Gone, all gone,

The reckless usage,

The waste, the poor choices.

Looking at the mirror,

Eyes bloodshot.

Nothing settles this,

There is no way.

I scream at the spider,

Who had the gall

To gloat over my burning .

Day of rest? Day of wrest.

Day of peace? day of piece.

Homophones drill through

The wall and through the ceiling.

I pretend it is the song

Of a rare bird, a rok perhaps.

They took a break finally,

I guess the kitchen or whatever

Can wait until after lunch.

At the moment, all solid values

Dissapear, and it like the uneven

Jagged edge of broken glass.

what sound does 

the love of the

mind make

when dew like

poppy petals

meld and

follow

low 

gnat

kisses

evasive as

Pegasus into

the sun, stars

and daughters

penned up in

dim classroom

halls as symbiotic

word-cascades of

mist and rainbows

that shift in antics

and minor brawls

so as to fall

all like

shadows from the nib

silver black drops

recessed at the

tip of some

Niagaras

to be bottled

glistening still

with a flood

of unfelled

waters...

#DescribeTheUnidentified #Challenge