A
fan spins anguish, often three cries, drenched in woes. I
fall
asleep, to a land of dreams, codified sorely. I saw an
island,
flooded with isles, and walking caves. I’m so for
spent,
if only one cigar, battered and bruised. I wanted
ivory,
to ponder for pure, and solely oblivious; and then
for
ivy, a walking vine, nursing tissue. I must imagine,
a
life for deception, haunted by psychic Jinns. How to live
it;
to never trust, forever a fugitive; and just a self, ever
to
run, a fractured mirror. Oh for remnants, where demons
frown,
a stature of evil. Oh for running, to face an image,
a
mind to catch up; and more for surface, the rest to
follow,
gnawing on grit and bone; but what to live, a complex
life,
valued for soul. If must efface, please remember, the
trials,
fire and turmoil; for wisdom learns, through churn and
death,
the breath of faith; else for nights, clawing flesh, and
stirring
lies. How to live it; to never smile, forever a fugitive;
and
just a mind, to hide within, and ever found. I mourn it
harshly,
in debt for growth, and letting live.
