Patterns

waking moments waged from fevered dreams
Hands alight in the symbolic bewilderment of belief, in solemn
questioning form
Oh, Hallowed Ground, I’ve walked, carefully treaded and spread
rigid snap-brush and clay, covering sacred imprints in the soil,
away from your name, indefinitely surpassed and encircled, brightened
in the holy light of decay
In the spotlight of significance, in pockmarked ritual surveillance,
in knowing acknowledgement and unknowing disembowelment,
in the unveiling of the customized context of your face and name,
I remain humbly detached and gainfully engaged
To the fluidity of text and dampening tone of voice in differing octaves,
offering conciliatory terms of re-engagement and remission, pathways
into the vein’s circulatory regulation of sinful pittance,
carefully conveyed, repurposed denial and compelling in its spite
What is implanted can no longer be connected to logic
or interpreted conclusions
Offer no logical outcome or connection to ancient parallel streams,
other than vessel carrying flow brought forward in open divinity
No remedial rewards for one’s constricted, tethered scope –
there are no shutters slung to slot the blotting light streams
Offer no solemn assurance, gazed upon tapestry,
averse to shades fatigued and enthralled in dot-dashed formation fails
None collected in withered wisdom, or fronts discerned
by elder committees in the face of blunted wits, to mimic far slung eyes
toward id and era forsaken
Offer reconciliation not with the sky, drifted and blue, far away comfort
dripping, chirping in dementia’s rhythm, unseen yet engaged
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