Its
intrusive silence found in presence haunting its subject. I
gaze
as pixels form images, as gravel forms portraits,
retiring
drumsticks; for drums have lost bass, affected come
midnight,
where pigeons rest upon windowsills. Steer
sorrow
related to woe a fraction of a person consumed with
presence.
A world is making joy, a phase yet to come,
facing
a daunting task. It’s closer to majesty—closer to
silence;
where sightly a heart wrenches wildly for an outcome.
I
rue not a moment tackled by woe, pitching pennies in a
pond.
I rue more a complication grounded in turmoil, cast
upon
light. I wade through friction tottering upon conviction,
enlightened
enough to suffer. It’s more a memory slipping
into
night, where facts become blurry bruises. A foundation
has
come forth, saturated with presence, affected by darkness.
We
weave a fortress come daybreak settled in souls peering
into
facades. It becomes obvious sipping a cup of coffee,
realizing
a tint of company. Light dawns upon mind: “I feel
haunted.”
