By Gryphon Ludwig
It starts as just distortion;
forms you can’t quite make out
as you peer your way through the window pane,
focusing your eyes in vain
You think you spy distorted dew-drops
as they don’t-do dash against the ground
pooling for thirsts of false roots
fed from unseen streams
Unconscious energy
never used and yet used up,
but never useless
Sunken floating
A sea of energy to be tapped and replenished
fed by forgotten daydreams and broken anxieties;
sapped by the true-dream and broken hearts;
the strange stagnant cycle
The paradox at first glance;
one must feel deeper;
ward off full focus, halved by headspace to think;
unthought and cradle hope with no hands
Bathe Yourself in Phantom Rain