the end of the never ending

painting by Naomi Silver

The End Of The Never-ending

I stand at the foot of my bed and I fall into the water.
The sea grows deeper the further I fall.

What if there is no bottom?
That may be the cruel truth.

To not know if there is an end makes thee entire
decent a living end.

Your mind changes shape
with countless questions and fears.

You start to ask the same questions with new hope,
but your hope is hollow

Your hope becomes repetition,
repetition becomes a safety mechanism.

The further you fall
the less of you there is,
so the fall stats to s l o w.

Then the fear of a limitless end worsens.
You will never really know if the floor existed,
and now there is less of you to care.

If there is an end,
by the time you reach it and the wandering hope finely dies,
there is nothing left of you to impact the oceans floor.

So I ended way before the end ended.

the purity conflict

the purity conflict


I don't know who to believe
the soothing drones with a history of new thought
or
the leather licked walls
of times I never had

the touch of a seductive tongue,
lights smeared on black hallways

blinded by the glare
of things you will never see

or you could follow the slow motion
of amber colored smoke

allow it to cloud your reality
and drift in and out of consciousness

it is always safe, you land on the soft buzzing drone
of sleepy emotion

this mono tone world has no judgment
no game to win
no answers
and no questions to ask

the money queen

the money queen


we all cower to the screams
of the mad money queen

she holds a court of contempt
and the sky above her is frightened with rain

the clouds swirl with a force above nature

her foot soldiers receive a sliver of her corrupted compassion

and small chocolate bottles of liquor
are passed out to the new followers

the death of hope

the death of hope

I can not fight this war
it blazes all day long

I remain silent,
a monster with a sad stare

my insides are hard at work
twisting and protecting
while the burning continues

but the enemy is growing
hidden in the blood mud trenches

the ground still smokes
from past destruction

hope skeletons hang
from charcoal trees

slipping

slipping

I let my head fall back but my mind keeps going

smaller and further I descend
through a painted universe

through far off galaxies
now just orange smudges
finger printed over a vast
black plum sky

I start to spin slowly
but I could look back up my spiral path
back through the celestial smears
right in to the back of my head
in to my vision
and back in to the night