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."
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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