The Deep



               In the quiet whispers of the night,
I hear the impending dawn chuckle 
a shadow verse 
of glimpse of soon-coming, 
like a white horse, hero of a romance looming.
Blue sides echo with turn,
a long standing joy taking burn.

But down in the water below,
Leviathan stealths, deep and low,
in demi-urge- surging,- mingling with 
the flowing pangea of dreams,
a birth pang showing. 
mirrored creation phi relativity.

As I listen to the water's song,
On nights where reflection reflects strong,
It seeps into my being, magnetically long
Becoming part of my very throes in ideallic throngs.

The quietness creeps into every nook,
worn sense lingers in each shadowed look-
looking back.
A heavy burden I must brook, 
cup it into my hand at my appearance took.

Yet in the midst of all the pangs,
pancreatic paleolithic lithographic phi heart strings.
Smoking jackets - storybook glistening spines, 
nightcapped bungalows of review and time.
Love still shines through- in endless flame, 
in projector rewind of black and white 
memories seeking colors divine.

Life, though fleeting, is not in vain,
though it endlessly tortures me,
it also brings lights and 
thunder and quenching rains.
What truly matters, that is what will be, 
bee to remain for my queen.

Through avenues of the dead intertwined with mine?
In this life, my purpose I find-
sticks and stones, haphazard bones of 
nothing but stark reality, alone.
That is, what we will sea.
The Deep, 
of matters keeped.
My thoughts of rose- picked by hues of meter
by my sense of prose in
magic's clothe s.

Or is it salt-peter.

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