Sometimes,

When the ‘tick’ allows,

I dive into the oceans

Of Visions

That fill-in

The deep abyss –

Within.

The eyelids softly,

Yet profoundly

Disconnect

The tactile incarnation –

Lame `n` futile

From

The quixotic phantasm –

Sane `n` juvenile.

Standing

Silent Simper;

Sensing

Spirited soul;

Seeing

Slow Sun-set;

Sea

Self-Surfing;

And

Sighing!

Do I face –

The terminus horizon

Unifying the separation;

Do I feel –

The soothing solace

With breeze surveying

My unclad surface;

Do I hear –

The silent mutiny

Of soul revival

Do I see –

Her hazy Face Gleaming

From The Setting Source

That’s Final.

Ah!

Oh! Alas!!

These moods

Of pure divination

Swing me back,

In a flash,

To live with living death,

In this sick asylum;

Waiting for eternal rest,

By the ‘ticking’ Pendulum.