Hieroglyph 18

Hieroglyph 18

There is a new order to the inconsequence of my days
And within its sphere my sanguine charm has suffered ordeals beyond words
There is a stillness here, recent but not new
And a clarity that reveals nothing beyond its own superfluous presence.
I have passed beyond my own thoughts
And beyond your thoughts
And beyond the innocuous passions of their birth
There is stillness here
And a clarity in the lucid warp of the world
The day's breath gathers into itself all life and deposits it on another shore
Despite all appearance
And despite the appearance of reason
The matrix is unformed
The substance of its intent is lacking
The world slumbers in restless dreams of its own creation.

Previously Published

© John A. Youril