He Standing at dusk
looking below the mystery
into a fugue state
searches templates of design.
Rhythms scattered and inconsistent,
decay what should be harmony.
Echoes of altered pitch
There are dragons here
buried within the ash
Wings broken into shards of whispers
filed into disorganized memories.
What once flew is now weighed down
by misdirection or maybe lost direction
time has fused both into one meaning.
Deciphering it seems insurmountable.
reference points no longer line up.
It all made perfect sense in another world
a place of a child’s dream destined to become reality.
There was a time of two evolving into one
such is the nature of things not easily come by
now there is just the one,
not made of two but just merely the one.
A hollow construct that exhibits nothing
but the shell