Skies

I wander skies, painting visions. The wind whispers. The
Night wails. And silence has become a mirror. My raft, a
Passerby: my heart, a fallin’ prayer. And near the river, a
Mongoose is chanting. I’m wire worn, waxing brave. The
Future is a riddle, fraught with the appearance of promise;
And light, a fleet of phantoms. My love, a gentle wisdom:
Our storm, a present calm. We vibe the blues, touching
Laughter, etching at the soul. Such love, a cupid’s dream;
And such flame, a fortress. But cryptic winds, speak the
Pain; and privy scars, trek the heart. Thus the ache, gilt’d
Love; and thus the pulse, a flood of wraiths. And far
Afield, a feyic flute; and passion wind, an anguish deep.
Thus the myth, a private muse; and thus the fear, a portrait
Bleak; and mystic blood, a psychic war.