SOMETIMES...
The fog hides the mountains,
Shrouding certainty, faking reality,
Within, I sit, and dream
Of death, and sometimes,
Of beauty,
Sometimes.
I dream of the times,
When mountain tops shimmered
White with snow
When deer gazed at me silently
Within the woods
When dew, sweet on the red petals,
I tasted,
When love, hidden yet open, filled
Innocent faces
Sometimes, I dream, I remember
And so it helps, that dream
For the times that I am,
Within reality, within reach,
Of that fog, that wall of white,
The darkness inside, is the darkness everywhere
Mould has grown, taking over,
All the figments of the past
That remain, undestroyed, yet violated,
Because they were there,
They saw, they observed.
Where are the woods?
Where is the snow?
I sit on the rock, thirst unquenched,
Never to be quenched,
I await death, along wait,
In sight of that mountain,
Where once, there was snow, but no more.
No more.
And sometimes I dream.
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