In Terms of Everything

Shivering rain pours, matted downward by the onslaught of wind. Each drop falling around shatters into a thousand pieces of glass. The cold water is dark and deep below. It beckons for travelers. A route. Another path traveled but not a way back. Lost. Stuck on repeat. An endless loop of scratched recordings coating the surface ripples. Waves scrambling to explain the fabricated piles of waste that cloud simple actions. They created the drained eyes, soaked in purple. Gasping for relief. For sleep. The urge that flows through while grabbing the grey rail lying over the decaying stream. Unkempt and unchecked. Not dreamed of. Not the pools. Dreams of grey ash. A blaze of fire, of warmth. Consumed essence. Minutes and hours spread into tiny grey particles, tossed into bright porcelain to be lowered into the wet dirt. Laughable. An eloquent and ordered way of putting everything in its place, into a new dimension. But that's what this all is. Escapism. Grime and muck are given a ribbon and bow, dusted off and praised. The water sweeps this away. The chance for unknown freedom. Luring. To live beyond all thought and reason. Reflecting the thoughts termed sane. Pitifully an objective statement given the setting. Like gazing into a mirror. It can only hold a focus of reality for a time before fading like whispers of past lives. Complex characters exiting the stage. Casting off, dying, and rebirthing themselves as the proverbial phoenix does. That's the point of it. Exclamation.To gather thoughts and leave with them to vanish. To carry nothing from the abyss. Erasing it, anything. Eyes from the sides gaze as the rain continues. Surreal ,at best, as this event is. Watching as the dying shell that will not travel, that will not return, burns.