The Mad Hatter
Multiple choices with one last try, amid this myriads maze
Someone very dear unto myself asked me the other day
"Is the sun shining where you are?"
So I took a crystal glance, into an oblong box....
Actually I thought, as I peered ever closer into this warping glass
It all seemed somewhat cold, wet and gray!
Raindrops dripping from the mostly barren branches
And winding their way down the misted window, of panoramic views....
Hues reflecting, submitting, the paradigms of practices profound?
A darker shade, shades; rippling the prevailing winds
Which echo within this momentary passing, of paradoxical hands
Words of whispers, which seem so transparently clear
But only in the vague, of twilights turning....
As abstract, as the voices I have heard as of late!?
While clinching leaves, left upon the transient trees
Tattered by the gust of times perpetual blinds, descend
Within these obtuse waters; like tossing waves about a churning sea
To and fro, amid the riptides, of teeterings dance and sway....
While holding on like spoon fed birds, upon the precarious wires, of waverings way
Bathing in these open skies, of morellos want and need!
A concord of sorts; this hearse of harmonies chords
Smatterings of immersed, within the funnels of fallings, from whence they breed
Shadows, dancing beyound the dimming lamp post lights
Crooked forms cast, as the silence begins to settle in....
For all is not always what it sometimes seems!?
And yet, there are some that still do stand, afore these chalkboard blocks
Always beholding the brighter promises, of the soon to be coming day ~
Theirs is no easily shaken reed, beneath these storms of seethe....
Where maliciousness is not within the window wells of proven
Sorrows, always sprinkled upon the platters, of these hell bent things?
The answers found within the prisms, of risings columns beyond the rain
Inverted reflections, spiraling from the tainted gray grim skies
While these cankerous versions of resonatings darker light....
Subterranean realities, of the solar ecliptics matinee midnights, implode!
Sitting upon my window ledge, an image, of the end of time
Hat in hand, with a familiar impish smile, and, the hollowest of eyes?
A reprise, of the wet, the cold, and the blue-black, day....
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The Mad Hatter
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