Time; a poem

Time is the entity of mistrust.
By it all is altered, by it all is dust.
Time is what triggers the running of my head.

When seeing things, I see them dead.

Things I thought I always knew, just mere reactions…tainted truth.

My blind abstractions fade away, small and meager.
Now comes the spiritual decay.

Terrain: a poem

All that is known is a darkness.

A darkness that aligns with the light.

Fated to stay, even though it may

Defeat further this skin and this bone.

Resent not the cutting of throats,

It has always joined this terrain.

Seeming to be, the kind blind to what’s free.

Though lost in this place, ask not why.

Closed rooms in souls stay ignored.

How then to open such doors?

Simply bound to stay where we cannot pray,

For the beasts in these bodies still breathe.

Shall I suppress it all in a small book?

One to let loose the disease?

For it’s everywhere now

And I just want to know how…

How to kindle faint spark into flame.