Mid-air is where dreams dwell
dreams that dare not see the sun
for they fear oblivion
The dark conjure air to whirl through the void
Moaning through the night in their endless melancholy
Whisking dreams through the air like a blind albatross
Crossing the channel between twilight and moon-glow
Riding a dreamy pillow of clouds
Adrift in the aether going nowhere
Cynical fools roam the dark
Preying on homeless dreams of argonauts
Sailing a Netherworld of paper trinkets and perfume wine
A single dove and an olive branch behold the tragedy
I am a wandering saint roaming the universe
in search of a home made of pure obsidian
ready to reach the gold at the end of the rainbow.
Rain of pain constantly beat me down,
but the vast fields of indifference stare at me with lackluster faces,
lackadaisical arms flapping limply in the breeze.
What before, a clockwork universe, is now a swirl of chaos
buffeting me in every direction,
unaware of how to rejoin a with the festival of joy in men’s hearts.
The sun hides behind the moon in an ethereal ring of light,
casting night where it should be day.
What waters from beyond do wash the sins from our mind,
my head still remain untouched
with visions of sparrows singing their reverie
before their attacks on worms for the day.
Walking a lonely walk,
towards a rainbow where there is now none,
only guided by the stars twinkling in sun’s occluded light.