Echoes in the Sovereign Void

You are the architecture of my own personally flawed undoing

You hold my feet in the drowning sands, with my heart dripping in the loss of ancient promised lands

Within your house, the decaying dark library of dusty books breathes its last sonnet

The pages turn no more, not in, not out—nothing but rot.

Notes of spidery dust dance across the air like ghostly stars in the tepid moonlight.

Your words no more. Your words I forgot.

Leather bounds break, spilling secrets from minds no longer turning. Forgotten worlds tumbling onto the cold, wooden floors, to be never-more.

Our devotion was too heavy for this world to bear, not in witness, not in promise, not in private not in person.

Step into my world, steep yourself amongst the heartache, for what is mine is no longer yours and yours is never to be mine.

The arches of my windowless cathedral tower high above the abyss, peaking twilight hours with its ruin. The gabled roof cobwebs of surrender. Night and Day floating across like a constant sky.

Vines of wanton ivy scatter through the fractured altars, no pulpit to spew my flowers.

The wind and its hollow, mindless hymns whisper through the frames, soulless and capturing.

We in this world do not pray to ourselves, we worship the beautiful loss of what we could never be, what we used to be and what we have yet to become.

Our minds still haunt us and swallow us whole.

The cliffs rise to the edge of our altars, sweeping reverently at our toes.

The floors we salute drop into waters of a storm – cleared coast.

Black waves of turmoil ice our cheeks, crashing our bodies against razor jagged edges.

Scattering salt and memory, and defiant resilience back into the air—until we are complete once more.

You are not my peace, my reverence, my refuge in fever. You are the wild, dangerous, reckless doldrums. A treeless wilderness of wild berries and rambling flowers I chose to lose myself in, over and over, and over again.