Endless

For An Artist Who Once Was



Silent purples, wash of stars,

at last a light in the east.

(it has to be the thought of morning.)

The endless cadence of mornings and twilights

thrumming in the ribs and cartilage of my memory,

all a dream broken by

symbols and time.

I wake from this dream sobbing and crippled.



Endless days. I feel, endless.



My heart begins to accept it's fate:

a weak connection to a vibrant dream,

static and erractic energy and then,

it comes into focus, I can see me there, so alone.

Endless child, you little creature. Lost on this high place above the sea,

endlessly looking down on a world you'll never love again.