Lost inside splintered time streams

Sometimes we run,

but all catches on

in a static rift, in time.

A poet’s rhyme,

carved into the splinters, before the sight,

hovering, what a height.

Watching, all the ants below,

sweep the valley, blue-green maroon hills roll,

glow, reflect hope.

The dark side of imagination

Night terrors

A ball of yarn

Knitting into

Images

Synergy, electricity

Movie reels projected

From thought

Mixed with fixed stares

Eyelids bare

Instead of hiding

Behind a brow

But sometimes things go wrong

Pain hidden

Insane, no one to talk to

It unleashes

Like a beast, a dark animal inside

Takes over

Makes you see what it sees

Misery and hate and fear

You’re scared

But all that is left

When the scene goes black

Is a memory, holes punched in like notebook paper

Your visions adjusts to the dark

Cold sweat

What was it that woke me up?

Like the silence, it erases

Stays buried in the string

The ball of yarn hides

Until slumber

Creeps in again

Like a dense fog on a wintry night