On Longing

The illusion,

that spell bound delirum,

to believe in it's cause,

and heed it's call,

Chasing white rabbits, through doors leading nowhere,

Only to wake up, clueless, restless, following in heartless abound,

With rapturous intent, the hearty cause that is your fools doom,

That figment that is the dream, that smell that is the sorrow, that feeling that is the tonic,

A spell bound, that drifts and circles your conscious mind, telling stories, sowing secrets and seeds, waiting to bound, germ and spark

drifting through delirious ideas, innocuous paradise, fateful chance,

to sail through this memory, to touch this truth, to hear a fateful call,

envelop in motion, and talking through movements with no sound,

to die before knowing, to fall before becoming, to witness before knowing,

to spell the truth