the colors of we (a haibun)

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I can feel you, restless, in my dreams, or mind, or heart. tortured by thoughts of nothing in blackness in the noise of a crowded room. There is no peace tonight, in my very being I feel it, There are no meds to remove the screams, no drugs to escape the torture. The numbness of self medication keeps your sanity hanging by the strongest of all threads. Can't think too much, or ponder on what ifs. But music looks beautiful dancing in the air, and time is a concept of man that serves no purpose other than to kill joy and draw boxes of conformity in thick black lines.

the color of sound

permeates cracks in the void

tolerable life

Existence without reason, alone in an ever-present crowd, there are no rainbows in nighttime storms, I can feel your quick breaths as you are dragged into sleep unwillingly, though in desperate need. the trepidation runs deep, silenced by normality, fear of separation of mind tethered to others by soul alone. Pretense in surface honesty, which is perceived as truth. But the core of it, the fear of it, the whole of it cannot be hidden, for I feel you to the depths of who you are afraid to be. There is no loss of sanity in being who you are, Those colors sound beautiful as they dance in the smokey air, and the math is art incarnate, science is the symphony around which all things are born and oh the music. Yes the music that dances through it all is the very air in all it's swirling hues of blissful perfection

two halves of self dance

tangos of darkness and light

beauty in all things

in wait of nightmares

there need not be loneliness

joy in one who knows