Outdated soul
clinging onto its dissipating fancies.
The act of sounds in its embrace
shriek down-along creaky
passageways of the self.
Sullen, barren, one light
ushering the pilot through
murky alleys he pines to inspect.
The site was mute,
damp concrete elevated every step
****** functions heard,
and thoughts were the last companion,
combating meaning that never arrived.
The sum of a loving soul,
unabashedly forgiving its fancies
for coming up short with impetus,
left the pilot in a state of disarray,
and confusion.
Predictions of panic began to appear,
breathed at speeds that dried up the ground.
Protrusion remains until that embrace is severed.
The fading halo of the pilot
is for him to comprehend
and continuously search for its origin.
Its beginnings were fair and joyful;
honest and of pure intention.