by on November 25, 2011 :: 0 comments

How the out-world shines upon this lonely bar,
As I dwell here,
Drifting into the mild fantastic.
A recidivist recluse,
Preferring his own company,
The respiration of my tides
Bearing the vast consciousness of the somnambulant.

While my mind sanctifies the moment
With the inanimate right to breathe,
Sensing the instigation of lives foregone,
Returning to contiguous affairs of coeval enlightenment,
Rearing an examination of character
Amongst such dark interiors,
Becoming sufficiently acquainted with spirit.
Exhilarated by the sudden lapse of time
At the expense of indebted memories.

While the suns auriferous glaze gilds the sands,
Shaped by the ocean—like consciousness,
Reflected a thousand fold by the ebbing tides of night.
With reminiscences cleansed upon the shore
Marooned by this frivolous presence,
In a harmonious façade of contentment,
Braver than any emotion,
Conversing with ghosts,
Haunted by salvation
Within a world that’s dead.

editors note:

Be absolved in whatever sanctuary claims your consciousness. Salvation comes through settling in with ghosts. – mh

Leave a Reply