When static is all I have
replacing what could have been
I’ll persist before I fade
leaving words stamped on page

where I once had high thoughts
the lofty that spun the spires
now there is only cold fog
asking if they ever were

art becomes my last stand
dispersed by fear’s long gaze
a decline that I’ll insist
is natural with no escape

like drops collected over time
they’re lost in the low lake
drowning while still alive
seeking return to higher ground

slipping down a hill
disquiet set in the soul
twisted as if to slow
the last dread now entwined

those horrors become a norm
panic turned into dismay
companion found to be dead
like the hum under skin

when quiet becomes the salve
soft buzz is all that’s left
the craft is a headstone
a shrine for what came before

evoking ruins found above
while the heart beats below
slowed to match nothingness
the bed I long to lay.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180502.