The beauty before us,
the lies suffocating the truth,
secrets hoarded by the moon.
These are the things that preoccupy the mind,
making the prison so comfortable and Divine.
The rummaging is moulding into the habitat.
It’s a habit, a routine we long to avoid.
The price will be a life, but the cycle is unbreakable,
unless the known is to let go
because the darkness is feared
light, unavoidable.
The answers will follow,
when we’re lost in the ethereal, close the doors of the shimmering light.
Find me in the darkness,
leading to nothingness, bleeding into a path, dismantling the mould.
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