Long ago in the not too distant future, whence temporal tense was but a phase,
I found myself afloat inside my head, from where I feared I'd fall within its haze.
Trapped by the door on the ceiling of my cranium's oubliette,
Where light had broken yonder windows worn by Juliette.
The pneumatic nebula of neurosis had bubbled and bursted in form of wicked psychosis,
Inspiring psychiatric summons and prescribed pills privy to such professional diagnosis.
Schizophrenic entelechy of the dopamine dripping upon a scalp's sedated skin,
Had enlightened my mind to see that which inside had neither yet to end nor to begin.
Varieties of verisimilitude art had been invited by the venomous arriviste,
I became to seek in euphoric ecstasy; the self of which those swallowed does consist.
And whence the nuance of unrequited redamancy diverted its loving chance,
Entropy of the heart entrapped me in its congestive and failing rhythmic trance.
Alas, the serendipity of ataraxy has been stripped from my cold crying hands,
As I'm shaved into a homunculus machine ticking on an untimed glass of sand.
Categories:
ataraxy, addiction, death, depression, emotions,
Form: Couplet
So August comes to its soporific twilight
and furtively stares at September,
stance indulged in reassuring ataraxy
August blinks
September earns
September, bearing its comely plethora of dulcet promises
Woe, those of August
For it is fugacious and dalliant
Woe, September, mocking the children of August with its desuetuded and dissembled comeliness
But reap not your earnings of despair, children
All is August demure and dallaint
It will return again, and again
"And so on?"
And so on.
"Why?"
Denouement
Categories:
ataraxy, absence, addiction, age, analogy,
Form: Free verse