Leaving the Attic

I left my mind tangled in the cob-web of my attic filled with dust-covered books to stroll to the basement of my coal-stained thoughts...unarmed but still a witness to it all though my searching eyes be plucked from history's read they would still reveal their scenes of death burned into my orbs by the raging fires of war dripping with the blood of man that wash the earthen ground from tribal hate It is from this ugliness I seek rest in the joined meadows of Pangaea where I can escape into its shadowed realms of shade deep in the forest where I hear the wolf call finding it is the echo of my soul spilling through the crumbled pages of time where I've come to cry out in the wilderness and witness the suffering that flows towards ancient shores carrying the dead bodies of the innocent left to decay by the worthless throne of men who wish to be King It's where I scream about the politics of men from dust-covered books where I can discuss life with Plato analyze the traps of Alexander walk with Ceasar on the Nile or join him crossing the Rubicon as I study the Anthropological Thought of Man my soul yearns for still waters so I retreat back to my attic to be lead away from the dry winds of men that flow from their hellish lies that makes me tired so I reach for the poems of Gibran and rest 3/15/18