in the blighting autumnal blast.
It is bare – dismally barren
of all memories – sweet and sour.
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.
Loitering on roads without hurrying feet
with no bliss coming on the way
to run or hasten to embrace
or fear to be missed so sore
passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels
forever barred with no exit
churned in oblivion, oblivious of all,
he remains a spectral facsimile
of his one time self
with dreary nights ahead
that shall not know another morrow.
in the blighting autumnal blast.
It is bare – dismally barren
of all memories – sweet and sour.
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.
Loitering on roads without hurrying feet
with no bliss coming on the way
to run or hasten to embrace
or fear to be missed so sore
passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels
forever barred with no exit
churned in oblivion, oblivious of all,
he remains a spectral facsimile
of his one time self
with dreary nights ahead
that shall not know another morrow.