In the Flow of His Life's Sweeping Existence

In the flow of life's sweeping existence, there is a silhouetted discovery that surges through the plains of my independent fight. It is much lighter weighted, adrift with vibrant new life: an antidote to the fallen stars that haunt the raindrops of my stubborn sky, digestible across the new plains of my existence.

It pulses in a space I'd sweep with the breadth of ecstasy, infinite yet cumulative to the wonders of a universe that never ceases. If this yet to reach discovery withstands the bonds of time and wraps the light of my breadth's trails in a cherished trove, let it be. It will satiate the deep emptiness that swirls within like hot, triple-smoked rings, doubting the very silhouette of a future that I avoid.

To approach another, unknown within my familiar pulse, terrifies my deep recesses. The equilibrium of my night shade must remain the same, as it unravels my coping mechanisms in just the right combination.

The future that awaits, beckons its electric pulse in shock waves that consume my wake. It exists on an old abandoned corner on the edge of a street, black with the veil of a closed mind, yet sparking with the raw throttle of an internal screaming, alluring absence.

What is the great abyss that divides my heart from the awaiting silhouette? Its etched shadow lurks somewhere amongst the smokey lane ways, scattered with the graffiti marks of pressing imprints, forged in a world gone chaotic. It rediscovers and re-frames itself right in that very corner that never seems to depart my cob-webbed cognition.

I have had so many chances to meet ...

In night I can seek the necessity of my exposure, to revive my own silhouette against the flickering roars of traffic's sensations. I am free to unleash, to express and to meld within the heavy blanket of dark's secrets. I drift and feel my combination: the free of the static air and the fall of the red-orange sky, as it gives me permission to be.

My staggered breaths swirl, catching and twisting the fog, shattering it into drops of lingering thoughts, surpassing the loud sounds of day. Drops that swell into bubbles, flickering with the imagery of a future re-imagined, amongst the undulating streets.

The poles bend and flex with the wind, propping my tired and spent frame as I reckon the day's slaughter. I witness the foggy, unwinding of lengthy roads that assimilate to my deep desire, granting me the aesthetics of immersive instances that allow pockets of relief from the lingering noise.

I dare to trace small steps, to stress test the reach of this void that appears unbreakable in its formidable state. It is my blackened soot of remnant fire, burnt and dusty from the age of mindless connection in a world that just ...

The lights blinded me one night, a swirling, screeching alarm that rung its righteousness across night's black. The chase and the flashing glow of command, to present myself like a stunned portrait against night's frame. A deep connection with my own shadows that I could not sacrifice, not for the glee of ignorance.

Scattered I was, yet my mind-soul bond stretched across the eternally connected lane ways. Cross marked asphalt always leads to the main destination: my own collective thought space.

There are words to describe this state, a wake-sleep adorned with the throes of life rearing its independence. From my vantage point the sky and asphalt are defiant of each other, at battle in a 360 degree spin of my daily existence.

A fire crackles and simmers, without burn, except the edge of raw red flame that slices through the repetitive imagery that I face. A bonfire, actively destroying the old, overused memory to make room for the re-emerging day's demand for focus.

Alone, kicking stones across the uneven surface, my frame bending as flexibly as the watchful pole. My internal light flickering as dimly as its anchored lamp, refusing to announce my presence.

If stubborn day rears its fretful conscience, let it rip and sail across the insignificant. I envision that roaring railroad wooden pilings will shutter against the shock of unwanted bright light, yet also momentarily veer into the shadows, relieving my tired wakefulness.

How else can I continue my journey into the unknown without the comfort of those shadows?

Remnant streaks of the darkened corner linger on my skin, the identity of my canvas of the night. The slowly creaking door and awaiting black that lingers, is a future that I must summon into my present existence. Yet what of the trials and tribulations on that corner? A future fleeting yet present: a mind indecisive of its kinetic direction.

My body lags to follow my advanced continuum of thoughts.

Amidst the wilting ashes, dropping their abundant smoke piles of oppressed thoughts I turn, eyes large and torn from lack of sleep. It is that very image, that silhouette I have shifted and sorted and attempted to discard, now a mirage that seems unreachable, yet one I can no longer deny exists.

Sleek and tall, cat-like and daring, you stand. A welcome beacon amongst the throes of night spent.

A jolt upright amidst the panicked, feverish night sweat of non sleep.

A figure half-shielded in dark's planted depths, yet daring to step closer and closer to me.

The sky transitions, patched with a deep pink purple scattering of vibrant thoughts that fill the abyss.

One on one, gazes locked, stepping closer, breathing raw and pulsating, against night's familiar cloak.

A different rhythm, opening new possibilities.

A new night-day cycle begins.