Substance without Existence

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.


Thinking about,

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.

The End

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