Pilgrim

A misweave in the fabric of the cosmos
I've wandered in this labyrinth unknown
my id is not in the answers I possessed
but the questions I posed in illusions
sauntering amongst shadows that dwell 
in the most beguiling of dark nights
my qulams float between cannibalistic stars
afterthoughts of an eyes-wide-open reverie
when perpetuity of time no longer an enigma
the ingress of death is without morbid allure
and life is but a lark barren of merry laughter
I stand in submission 
wave upon wave of cataclysmic kismet
lapping amaranthine on my weary feet
into expanse of blackness that is creation
I whisper--
I am the questions I ask
a pilgrim lost in infinite celestial possibilities
irrevocably entwined with another's spirit 
only for her stardust to slip between my desperate fists
I am--
the questions I ask 
why
in the Book of Existence;
why write a story
incomplete
incomplete. 

©Lost