Mind of My Mind
Now the dawn awakes
in purple splendour,
a drunken mist on dancing feet.
In celebration swing
those branching eyes,
to golden hymns
and yawning skies.
While a sleeping
insists I disturb,
the waters of no reflections,
with my thoughts
wet in the salt of misconceptions,
that refuse to awaken.
— Be quiet. He yelled to the mind of his mind. Angry at the faces within. Hear.
Speaking, he lays the mine before those feet. His face smiles, the wrinkles disappear. The stress of epochs soften into the now.
Clouds swirl in mirth; the jungle laughing in the winds; witnesses
The final conch blows. And then; a loud thundering boom echoes through the throat. The loudest sound of them all and the brightly lit dawn is engulfed.
Join the newsletter
Fiction, Illustration & Signals.
Leave a Reply