I wander aimlessly here, here in this place where I
often go. A refuge where I come to be restored by the midnight air, ere that perfect silence into which I'm
thrown; and in which I can collect my thoughts &
know -my percipience does ignite somewhere.
Somewhere off the map. Somewhere off the globe.
Aloft in these Nameless Hallows, I travel lightly -because
my body ne'er goes... goes... goes... in these, my echoes within -within the far compass of unerring tranquility: but what an ability
-what a beautiful bliss! to cast no shadow where the
dutiful exist.
Lo!
Suddenly a downpour hits!
T'is Woe!
T'is Woe!
T'is Woe!
And, sullenly I resound her hiss.
I look thru squinting eyes as lightning is barely
lightening the glinting skies; the frightening bolts
extending and scarily resembling skyward highways
which have me verily trembling, hammered, amazed.
Tho I feel and see and hear -part of me does part with
what I fear -and the other partly remains enthralled- as
I tuck myself in so near, an attempt in thwarting the
violent squall.
Now I slog helter-skelter thru the deepening pool.
Seek I shelter like a tooling Creep or a creeping Tool.
Thunder rips the sky asunder!
Those pounding noises sound like resounding voices,
voices,
voices
and then I wonder, wonder, wonder... if the torrent is my only
torment:
or
if I must also face my other self,
that half of me
that ne'er lies completely dormant,
that hemisphere that lives and breathes and moves by stealth.
This is my grimmest fear, when I must ask myself -for my Self
- which part of me I should
shelf.
I think I can abandon both,
you see:
but then there
would be
nothing left of me...
or me...
*or me.