Odd Hours: Poetry

I share my thoughts
at odd hours
when the mind does
not interfere,
with its
distracting symphonies
~
The heart blooms
in the chest,
mortal lotus
and visceral drum,
whose worth is only
realized when it
ceases its beat
~
The days spent in silence
give me such release
from daily life;
Lifted from the
Monotony Train,
I sigh alongside
the autumn breeze
~
I live in a closeted world
of sentient trees and
intuitive wind,
chased by colors growing
brighter every day
~
Chills cross
the landscape of my skin,
burrowing there in
reminder of the winter
yet to come
~
These empty places
inside of me,
not yet purged of
their residue,
blaze forth with dark
and irrefutable substance
of "I am not that."
~
Here,
at the end of things,
I find I've just wanted
to be loved
~
It is easy to cast blame
towards external wardens
who seem to hold the keys
to your freedom
~
Far harder to acknowledge
every footstep that led
you to your capture
~
The Nile grows large now,
the subconscious
floods the conscious,
nourishing all it touches
with the sediment of
All That Is.

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