Sickened subconscious,
Nestled in anguish,
In thoughts that bid me
To rot and to languish,
Kneeling to pleas
Of selfish desires,
In forests of trees
Blazing with fires,
The branches—they lie.
The shadow draws in
On the whispering sigh
Of the wandering wind,
A message inscribed
By no hand that was,
That words can’t describe
Nor silence can cause,
For the fire still burns
While time marches on,
And nobody learns
The meaning of dawn,
No one is free,
For nothing is seen—
The forest of trees
Stares at the breeze.
author’s noteThe numb recognition of a thought beyond reach under the twilight of waking memory.