In all my tired ways
I continually exhaust these tired days.
By breath, my thoughts, my heartbeat,
it all remains the same.
The same stagnant boredom of tomorrow and yesterday
tied together in the meaningless function of today.
What is a day?
What is a day but just one empty and slow space of simple time
in relation to the imensity of the complexity of life itself.
What is life?
What it life but a shallow crack in the fortified wall of all eternity.
A radiant heaven hovers above and a burning he'll rests below.
The green and blue spaces here, though beautiful in thier humanly colors,
lack the luster of an alternate reality.
So, to resolve in order to fall into a deep restless sleep, where one can hide from all realities known and unkown to man,
this hazy inbetween, where there is no black or white,
no gold or crimson,
where there is only a grayness brought on by the bleeding greens and blues,
this crying space is where our yearning lives seek ingenuity.