The Rotting Wish Invites with Refused Permission
A wish
To be reached upon,
Either by voice or
The finest productions of
What may become of a message
Whether to happen
When needed most
Or simply
by a dream;
I find the night to tend more rampant
Than pains harshest devotions
and of those yet to have been shown to me
With such a repetition
A shattered grasp upon another infinity
Loses the bearing hand, scattering into an oblivion,
or at least to where I may not see.
So here, I fall towards the wonder,
That if it be the latter,
Then climbs the possibility any
Would hate to bear.
For when the morning comes,
Every night following without
Becomes a consideration,
Strange but with a hurting favor,
fair
Are you leaving me for your real world
With your own concerns,
Or would it be I,
Leaving you
for where I cannot freely return?
May my wish for your greeting
Trap myself within a world
Blinded in shades of illusion?
Could your answer
Cast any of our privileges
Upon a tolling void?
How may a wish for peace
Change with an honest answer into something horribly disturbed?
May it solely be a decaying prayer
Assessing all of what may come
From a falling voice?
I do not know
If I want to know
But here I ask
And it is my wish
I understand if I may be refused permission
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