Our Infinity

The picture of whispering gardens,

asleep in a day's dream of waxing petals,

shines with delirious music beating light into the void,

relentless,

like some iron finger,

still by time,

a rusty apparatus,

though bare and empty it incubates above my head,

a storm above a shadow,

then winter eclipses me, 

time becomes nothing more than images and soundscapes,

hit replay,

time becomes nothing more than images and soundscapes,

now erase,

severance becomes my whole,

like a body made of cobwebs in a room filled with smoke,

there is no beauty in the eye of the beholder,

and not a thing to be held,

seed your direction without distraction,

satisfaction only leads to chain reactions,

inducing abstractions of an already delirious sobriety,

in liquefaction constructs of the truth once obscured solidify entirely,

as concealed within your actions,

exposed with interaction,

from this you cant retire,

but the desire to inspire should be an immediate reaction,

stronger than the vacuum of an electron multiplyer,

you can never stop reaching higher,

because you constantly perspire unconsciously the conscience of your honesty,

embroidered in a thunderous assurance you declare you've been deciphered,

a second later recapturing the utterance,

at least you forgot to hit record,

you decide to reallocate the disadvantage of those words,

stinging sharper than a sword,

from the you that had to abdicate,

 into the you that's never been before,

you let yourself emancipate in the wake of a previous timeline,

and now you wait for still water in the shadows of ponderous pines,

lying still for so long you've won the three-legged race into infinity,

your prize is a divinely chiseled synchronicity,

concealed to those not listening.