Author Information
Colors Clamor
A threat to the salve or restorative sleep
and making waking moments mean something
past the passing of the sun and
the tides softly pulling the sands of sanity away.
Thick fog creeps across dewy ground
suffocating lifegivers with its evil embrace
hiding the glowing eyes of nightstalkers
and willing the unwary into a state of stupor
some fools part with their money to achieve.
The waning moon wastes away
gracing the lost with its wan light
that it never returns yet always asks to borrow
when another day is lost to broken songs.
Such travelers are the ones always pigeonholed
yet rarely understood, as their strangeness is
not truly owned by a singular niche, yet
always rears its ugly head at the most inopportune time.
The strings that hold reality together
are fraying and whipping about in the wind
pulling apart the static pictures that make memory
and scattering them about in the muck
to be petrified anf utilized anew
in an age where virtue and vice
meld to become the deciding factor
in what garuntees your future
as one who sees what isnt there
and hears the growth of their own hair
the one with a frantic searching stare
the one whose god has lost his care
the one whose life is trite unfair
the one who resides in insanitys lair.
