[untitled]
I dream a perfect vision
and the world succumbs.
It falls into my reservoir of harbored lies
on which I draw incessantly
to feed my shallow innocence.
I shade the world in many tints.
So many tints that I forget
the hues in which the world is drawn.
Let me lie beneath the surface of my childhood pond —
concave boundaries reflecting
altered Heavens
stirred by winds that ebb
my consciousness into a lull of drowned delight.
In spite of all the noise above
I sleep a deaf and blissful slumber.
Ignoring all realities
that would encumber every moment
if I only surfaced for a breath.
But Iíd rather count the buoyant seconds
held in time until my death.
Instead of breaking calm enclosures
for the taste of desiccated skies
appearing much more pure than true.
And who knows what may ensue
if I can only hold my breath for life,
for love of life, my life, for love.
Glassy-eyed and gaping
at the waving world above.
Let me count the rising spheres of hope
as they linger at the top and meld.
Perhaps in desperation
I will rise and kiss what I exhale,
remaining in the shallow depths
until Iím poisoned by the stale
and empty sighs
of my own dream.
If only I could scream,
and find a world
that I do not despise.