There are no words. . .
There are not words. . . .
To grasp the perfect
Words I always reach for
There is no hope
In this instance
By which I am found so~
So entraced and awed.
Years of patience begin to show
The smallest rewards now and yet
It is now more than ever patience
Seems like such a burden to hold!
Bear it upon my shoulders
Fight against myself
And know that time will
Unveil the outcomes
In all its own due course.
Forlorn whispers in the night
Calling the phantasm back
Begging the dream ne'er to fade
Or withdraw from my breast.
For this dream be held
So near to my heart,
Praying it come to fruition
Sadly, expecting it not.
A tangent takes this verse
If verse I should call
It verily, and rightly.
Somehow let dreams control
And manage me further
than logic dare try.
Facing long lost words
Listening to neigh forgotten sounds
Allowing memories to entrap me.
A memory is nothing outside
The edifice of its temple.
That edifice is none other
Than that foolish organ,
That be entrusted with
Out very life's blood. . . .
Lie back against that bridge,
Face that left wall,
Gaze upon the floor, so stained,
In crimson and tears.
This room resembles,
That of a dungeon
Or torture chamber. . .
But further within
Examine the more lovely rooms
See the beautiful things collected
Know that it was worth it then
And if could be done right now
Would be beyond even that unlisted
Price that it so claimed.
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