Vicious circle

Can one know a way out of this maze?

One that goes around, like shackles in the heart

Beating relentlessly, thudding impulsively

Syncing a contraband of sorts from within, around and all the way inversely

Can one know how to silence the unheard?

These voices, all of whom believe they are one

Layering along the length of pivotal sense,

Around the periphery of reason one can feel them pacing

In circles, then back and forth, once a rhyme seldom for a reason

Can one hope to wake up feeling light from a sombre slumber?

Believe it was real, and not a dream

                                  Ah!  To even dream of it! Could perhaps be easier to believe…

The disjoint within, surfaces like blocks of ice on flowing memory

Melting, often yielding to the pseudo vastness of abundant vacuum

Empty and hollow in its being

Craving for an elixir, that it itself is, in its entirety

So much to save, not one for oneself

That is where it ignites, tremors ‘neath the calm

Can one hope to rise from one’s own defeat?

One that has been fought long enough, over the never ending expanse of time

Brutal, merciless and lethal, yet so confined

One that damages to only the extent of self destruction, each like tremors ‘neath the calm

   

To meddle in emptiness and find matter within would be progressive

The self can never be placed or found, like a wanderer of supremacy

One is only too old to believe

That running from what one hides, has a scarred face in time

And an identity which is, non-existent

One that roots like a wager and

Stems from what is progressively,

The End of Time.

A Classic

There’s often something lost in a gaze, it’s some one

Of wondrous belonging, the place one could run back to

There’s sometimes a slight chirp in marsh dark woods, from beckoning light

Of splendid glimpses, the place one could never describe

There’s often plenty left unsaid, where it’s indeed almost essential

In the world where we live, and slowly seize to pass by

There’s sometimes a fleeting thought even in a calm mind

In the ocean where we surface only to drown, another passing by

In moments where one could lose sight, it’s a vision that holds as it remains

Perfect! Perfect!

One for one, and one for them, time and over, again

It’s poetry, perhaps a composition that classics are made of

One for one, and one for them, time and over, yet again

Captivating is that sight, envisioned by a master, its portrayal unleashed

Perfect! Perfect!

Around the time where a soul could be disappointed, deceived

An orchestral dawn plays far and wide

(Perfect! Perfect!)

Tingling from a Lemon’s wake,

To Solace’s surprise, from its own beckoning

Magicians, musicians would wonder, like they do

Yet never find, what every element witnessed in its essence

A classic

To have basked in its glory, is a win all

To have reveled in its entirety, is an honor

And to have it, is a treasure gladly found.

Perfect.  For the record.