Bipolar afterthoughts
I walk an arid plain that lacks the,
timber of dry weary sunlight,
I stumble and bumble into the gapping maw that is the noshing night,
Seeking a forlorn elder tomb awashed in tepid gray,
So I may kneel in the dust,
Ashing My brow before the treacherous dieing day.
The Stars flood the near bound sky,
Dancing about the blood bound moon,
Hanging low before our eyes,
Truths that echo in the hallowed dark,
Beyond our self made tombs.
Encased and enraptured we are,
Sailing and splitting the still waters of the firmament with nary a bloody thought,
For those that are loved,
And for those that are lost.
Thrive in amongst the reeds,
Buried alongside my troublesome deeds.
