As they twirl about my head the thoughts no longer trouble but seek to coalesce. No trouble sleeping, breathing easy the dreams of slumber’s unmasking. Whether nonsense or real the images projected across my resting mind clarify the drivel in the mist. Realizing the power in shades, honoring light as they do, some make better camo than others. The degradation of excuse’s option leaves me naked to the cold, burning imprint of Reality’s centrifuge. I am lain bare.

Unforgotten rarity of moments from which peace may prosper. Downside to resisted war that resolution marries self-control and devotion to compromise’s co-opted influences. Where then shall I park this vehicle of hate that is so tremendously productive in misery’s cause. Shant God allow me to resemble that which has fallen and rides among us, shotgun? These are not dreams but putrefied nightmares frozen plasma into the glossary of fate’s trauma. Gone are the rotten things of wanton desire, passing for noble dreams, replaced only by Glory’s Grandeur. Ah, rest and fealty a mixture made from organic life resting on conservative reason.

They want to know all answer, when even part shall split asunder the atom’s glued together. Wisdom is not key to the entire universe but rational in appetites for knowledge, gloom and pleasure. A skeptic measure of the content reserved for man’s understanding. Day’s undertaken without shield to tympani or chalice are best spent in resolve, restored and replenished in fearful contemplation. Is this a Spring moment for answers to flourish and ripen in the sunshine of rounded epiphany? Or the tawdry, tiresome testimonies of winter’s promise to keep silent the treasures of mourning? What lay before us in star’s proximity? The leisure of universal compromise or the treasured pleasure of expanding nebulae? How far does the sun’s eye see?

They reach back to times before recording or habits brushed from the memory of night. Into complex kits of sanction and ceremony the march about bedraggled in the shiny black of the satin dew. Parading forth oblivious to Portal’s Eye upon them containing courage to feed the cold vacuum of fright’s compression upon the once unscuffable  hypocrisy of Pride’s Certain Service. The tapestry frayed upon inspection has been disassembled to colored yarn unwinding the story of its making. Into space no scream has been uttered for lack of voice, or mouth, or string to sound caution to wind unbroken. They lay dormant as this mind reflecting the images of dream, given to a soldier awaiting battle, the knowledge of a return home to the glory of God’s thankfulness and anticipated delight.