The Well

Alone in the dark chasm of night

I swim in well of indigo

feel the caress of quills

like silky slithering skin

slide across my mind

 

Vision come as a mural,

a vivid collage that moves and breaths,

has voice from the images

who constantly change appearance.

 

How do I deny this craving they cause?

It controls my fingers in gestures

ever forming words,

they call out their identity

as tales and verses that burst from my chest

can’t be killed by my will.

 

In the stillness rivulets of fire

consume my quiet,

they burnt their inferno

as prisms in radiance,

each hue speaks its own essence

until their echoes cry out

and consume me with their presence.

 

There is no life I can dwell

without the release of that energy

for it holds my heart with barbed vines,

which will not give me any calm

unless I submit my very being

unto scripting their portraits.

In the end,

when I have exhale their breath

I dream and sigh

while knowing like the wind

they will never stop being my life.