Friday, July 22, 2016


The propensity of it all,

How could I possibly know what is to come next

And yet so much of it seems so predictable

In shrinking pupils

Nuanced architecture

before it happens

Even the outlier events become commonplace

I navigate them

As the weakest part of the mind

Is between the plates of their beliefs

 I came, feather and talon

Days before you even heard of this place

I held the image of it

time becomes trivial  

what is to become of us?

What is to become of this?

As I dream of beauty and grace

Trying to subdue the firestorm of my thoughts

Sequestering the ire into stamina

Breaching the ethereal

I hunger for the shift    

Repeatedly brought back to reality

Only to realize there is a kind of atonement

In the furnaces of faithlessness

Where the faithful never shape this reality

I am wrought and tempered

In the dream  of chaos

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