The perambulations of a somnambulant soul. The repercussions of a forced oblivion. A transient existence hinged upon the firmness of thought. The molten thoughts of a fae wind grappling with the boundaries of a tomorrow today never meant to let happen.
A phantasmagoria playfully creates life out of the distinct sounds of the morning traffic. In the moments between pulses, you take a chance and seek a reason. In honor of the illusory purpose some higher power granted you so you would have a reason to be.
A few photons culminate into a ray of light that shines its way into my deepest secret – where is my soul? A snap of his fingers and it would rain effervescence. But my soul is somnambulant and my eyes are wide open dreaming an existence that soaks the colours out of the days.
Sometime in the autumn of my soul, as leaves do I will cleave gently from that tangibility and tear myself away from that reason and promenade the cobbled pathways of a sublime that is etched in the spirals and towers of some distant aerial city.
I always hear you when there is silence.
1 comments:
that was quite gorgeous.
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