Faces of spoken worded harmony
laugh at my plight,
these feeble attempts at a mimicked life
as I break the trials
and tell the stories of what might be
by becoming the truth of what I will.
I attempt to effect a change of spirit
outside of myself,
while wondering on the inaccuracies of truth,
but understand its only given to my point of view.
My machine is changing.
I am brought forth
into a barbaric scream of intention,
adjusting to new ways of being
and testing my bodies functionality
This is not may place or my dementia.
I am not lost
unfound by this void
that has me tabled in storied structure.
Ideas are never far
though my time here is fleeting
though each moment of mine is infinite.
I grow in spirit and depth
and each day my paradigm shifts
awaiting the arrival of spirit.
The past looms at my door and I peak
knowing the result of opening
and ready to do so if it comforts.
Aloneness is my nemesis
though it must be choice
for it is where myself is found
by dawn’s crack and night’s fall.
My search is not for the answer to questions
for the truth is before me and all around.
My search is for the questions
that will connect me with this riddle
of remembered existence.
I may choose the doors and the path
to collide with this fated relevance.