Sweet,
wine.
Withered,
times.
Melancholy
becomes the wind.
Sorrow,
be the rain.
Oh,
be I,
forever in chains.
Forever,
absent the ability,
to be freed.
Life.
Where,
be this,
life?
Where,
be I?
For,
thunder constantly strikes.
Still,
my eyes,
are forever absent sight.
Be I,
not within this,
earthly realm?
Be I,
not human?
For,
how be I,
able to miss such?
How,
be I,
absent this,
cosmic experience?
This,
conscious realm?
How,
be I,
vacuous within,
such?
Within,
this anomalistic consciousness?
Oh,
be that,
my darkness?
Be that,
my melancholy?
For,
if within,
be no me.
No,
eye.
If such,
be one,
forever tethered,
to the darkness which sits,
behind thine eyes...
©yungb123
Y