the page

this one is a weird one, written waiting for the train, then on the train.

the cold blank page
stares at me withered with age
flames rolling, twisting writhing
fierce in my head
the need to warm the page
with thoughts that will bring life
and warmth to this cold page

flames sparked by let downs
false hope and beautiful catastrophe
to be's or not to be's,
to do's or not to do's
the ashes of burnt sacrificial life
thoughts reaching the temple
focus is not any clearer
than a steamy winter window.

sun glistening, dancing, spinning, rippling,
to be in that nirvana state
lifeless but full of flight
what joy that would be

sweet distraction,
mindless numbing
fast paced trees and shrubs
drops travelling the unkown way
distracted by nothing but its path

to be the raindrop or glistening dancing dust
to be at ease, what dreams would be
so awesome and bellisimo
but to try for,
only makes the metaphorical corridor
all the more longer
the end unreachable
unfathomable end,
against my cognitive ways.

lost...