Burning from behind the walls of an Antarctic glacier,
Stranded, yelling for the aid of a distant, passing sailor.
Underwater cyclones circling ‘round & ‘round,
Ears filled with strange noises like a heartbeat from an ultrasound.
Woeful waters of the inner-directed,
Inspiring the self-reflective.
An illusory ruminant,
Living off of sentiment,
But lately more saturnine than starry-eyed.
Lost, without a compass, as impulsive as the tide.
Tuning out, when I should be tuning in.
It all blends together in contradiction,
Is this experience a recollection, an observation, or a premonition?
Weighing the scales of what aspects of my mind are credible,
Because apparently being pragmatical is acceptable,
And you must put on the strait jacket of being completely objective,
In lieu of slipping into something a little more subjective.
The rest of the world screams to push down thoughts of pure emotion,
As I cry & hide my heart’s love potions, quietly holding onto devotion.
But every night I dream of the sunrise,
The incandescent passion within that still underlies,
And the sleepy euphoria of being moonstruck in the astral A.M..
Then, I finally remember what it’s like to be me again.
I’m learning the value in being raw & forthwith,
Because life on earth is futile, so we might as well make a moment of it.