The Last Page Of My Journal

"Discourse.

A faint murmur in the ears, light upon the eyes, and flash - toes curl, numb, in endeavors. Hold tight. Eluding grasp. Feeling so vivid.

This.

Tapestry of ornamental beings - woven hand in hand - depicting the overture: what was, will be. Abstraction. Pedagogical. Twisting at threads - wind, unwind. Hanging on proverbial walls. Bequeathed in flames.

The ink will dry. It sustains no life in itself. Leeching into dead fibers, staining the once precedence of life.

Staining.

Caught in windows, foot upon the ledge. Whispering, I will be the night.

I thought if I trod lightly, my words would bear less weight - my heart unpitted with stones. But nothing can dull the edge. Time presses on. These words will flow, unyielding to the bitterness. And I feel, endlessly. This, eternal. This is.

Endlessly. "

Prequel To An Ending

It has been long since I've written any work of significance here,

And for now it shall remain that way.

In that time

I've written an album.

Because

For a long time

I'd forgotten what I'd believed in

In this brief non-fiction of mine

That I propagate with fantasy

To make it

To the next page.

I feel alone.

Utterly.

Entirely.

Isolated, even

From who I am - who I want to be,

What I love - but that is unimportant.

I can share this secret

This work of fiction

With no one

Until I find myself.

Maybe I shall return

When - if -

I do.

But as to that

I make no comment.

I don't believe in love.

Peace.