“Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air.”
“The air is crisp. Autumn’s coming. The colors of dying leaves. The four winds blow to each and every corner. In my ear, they’re whispering. A devil before me. The demon behind. I’m circled by the angel’s wings. The past is dark. A future darker. Tired of everything.
Back to sleep.
Tired of limbo, tired of sleeping, tired of a tired mind. Tired of trying. So unsatisfying. Tired of the uphill climb. Yet in the background stirring, a hint of madness, the thing that’s sought to find. To break up the dreary, and bring life to the weary, seek a new ax to grind.
Time to fight.
Complacency easy. Once content with a old dream. Dying for the thing that hides. The illusion’s a veil. Dark shadows prevail, while screaming from the mountainside.
The battle is won. Life is the spoils. Yet the war is so hard to fight. Take up the blade. Swing with the fury. Transform the dark to light. Merciful morning, please grace me your presence, help me combat through the night. The wicked oppression. Depressive obsession. Agony’s delight.
And know in your heart, within those deepest parts, there must be better days. Look to the skies and all that’s despised, then see through the cloudy haze.
Just a phase.
Look in the mirror, the image much clearer, time again to change the mind. Let the soul go to flight. Bury the pride. Find some new ax to grind. Though some paths lead to nowhere, more dead ends and despair, and some paths too hard to find. With the blade in my hand, I can reclaim my stand. Consciousness redesigned.
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