For endless days
and hours beyond the faded light
I will hear the echoes on the mountains.
And I walk, watching trees that wrap the long forgotten road
in tiresome, endless woes
cracked pavement and grass bolting through
Thinking about the age of things on a timeline
Watching through the windows, through the faces on the t.v.
the far fetched words, and theories that make the day run okay.
The sun is but a spot
A layered bolt through the trees overhead
I'm finding true loss
in wanting and needing both,
the sanctity of my mind
and a fresh outland to reach upon with my hands.
the tar that boils underneath this crust.
So my feet may find no sanctuary
on this world, no solid, no ocean
but an endless abysm of emotion
and cycling and recycling of atoms and love and pasts and wishes and time.
And I watch it falter and end
on this grey road.
Before the recycling starts again.