Inner Phantom

There is light, shrouded in darkness, where the two meet; and there are thoughts, the essence of angst, fevered in hostility. To harness each, becomes a process, grounded in diligence—a need to pause thoughts.     I’ve seen faces, and jagged contours, embodied in frustration; where a greeting, becomes a challenge, even a dark reply; but are we there, to live without grounding, to neglect the inner sanctum?     There’s a tornado, stirring at random, to nudge consciousness; and there’s a tension, between night and day, where they enter each other.     Many search for balance, to confront a presence, this something that has made a home; and many ignore it, ever to live it, where troubles are but a reach away; either/or, there’s much to acknowledge, a time of busyness.     The winds are howling—as the windows rattle: this is similar to a countenance; where something is pressing, right against the mind, permeated through the entire body.   

 

To come close enough—is to engender a smile, to enter the esoteric; where images flash, of speaking hearts, to a community.     I talk of humans—carrying ghosts, to search deeply a mirror; but not for long, to encroach upon madness, if the mind is there.     Some are without a choice; for life has a motive, that for life within; to climb depression, and know it’s heavy, and nothing is slowing down.     Something shifts through turns, awake in stillness, altering the beings of life; where a flower is a friend, to reach for beauty, where a tear is watching; but not to fall, to witness life, the order of chaos; and still for order, ever a thin volt, where night trickles into day.     I know of many—that slip in speech, to speak of self as We. It catches my attention, to witness this phantom, revealing its presence; but not to fear, and not to ask, for We is Us.     I’m rising softly, where consciousness increases, to enter the next phase.