Times Door

In perfect sight I see what’s come to pass.
You look at what has become of me proud.
If only there was a route through time, fast.
It’s passing waits for no discussion now,
Of its illusory being. Refrains,
From malicious temptation? Indifferent.
We’ll forge on alone beside mans best bane.
Though a companion of ours, unpleasant.
In fear or pride we think it’s forgotten?
Who would remind death of our numbered days?
And at the door of eternity, one,
Perhaps would ask what’s this last toll to pay?
There’s nowhere else to go but through the door.
Here time won’t follow, you’re alone. Go forth.

Reality Demands a Sacrifice

After all this time am I still awake?
Or am I still sleeping? One cannot know.
This a colored lens, anxieties take?
I don’t think it would make a difference so,
Our hours, what we perceive to be day,
Are spent towards the twilight leaning;
And what’s imagined to be night will say:
Rest. Awake. Do not spend all time dreaming.
Reality demands a sacrifice.
I will rise and in doing so procure
A dream that has enough blood to suffice.
What does the waking world hold that’s allure?
I will stay asleep and remember when,
Reality is a place I had been.

Shadows in Colds Absence Make

A morning sun swallows whole cold abyss.
Out of sunrise crawls forth another day.
Shadows in colds absence make way for this,
This place in time where playful daylight stays.
An eater of days gives birth to new dawn.
Its digestion is the passing of time,
And where once was silence there now is song.
Each days end, and I’ve heard too many, chimes.
Days pass, and I do not grow so tired,
That I may not rise and hold close each piece
Of my heart, and do so ’till expired.
Distant conclusion with so long a lease.
Devoured time and light and day now brings,
Value and reasons for my heart to sing.

Light Dies Alone

This is the day that light dies alone.
So far away, yet close to home.
For home in nothing resides a shadow,
Of the path that leads to it. What can I do?
In wonder I gaze at stars above.
In wonder I look around.
The sun with dead light beats down.
A day of dead light is hardly day at all but time.
In times passing behind nothing, before it, void.
Light dies alone in past tense, and in its future bed.
It’s only alive in this moment, hope with it in our head.
I will not gaze behind me to find it true: all what I’ve said.
Daylight dies alone and I, now can finally see,
That I am not the one that light calls company.