F A I T H

locomotion of my soul

from precarious there to precipitous here

in between,

lodged at the pit-stop of self-discovery -

i still request a P A U S E in time

to choose a definition

i am riding on the ups and downs,

swaying to the far and wide

this foggy window reluctant to reveal the periphery of reality...

the mystery of that distant grove.

(i speculate that i would be transformed within)

but as the air i breathe becomes stale,

i stretch toward prophetic words spoken to the ghost of me

in a rough-edged dream.

i build like a cold front descending on this town

the torture complete in auditory package,

incessant clacking of wheels upon the track

while nothing in the rhythm

tells me where i’m going.

voices from a parallel world

fill the spaces the haunting has left,

and swirl around,

an effigy.

fearful of these empty shadows,

the hollow echoes shrill and thin...

i take an impetuous step into the roaring blackness.