I welcome sleep with sounds of thunder
Finally, like going under a bridge
of seconds, sevenths, and roiling water
Leading to visions of chthonic marauders
Here, tonight, an image lost
when I open my eyes, but still, I crossed
that bridge, at least for a time
and found again
A place that lives behind facades,
with no concession for lies or mirage,
that only exists on thunderous nights,
where phantoms scurry to the edge of the light,
and directions are posted on signs, but might
not direct you in the way you expect,
but lead you to where your actions go
not to your thoughts, or intentions,
so
There can be no deception between in or out.
Unwilful obeying is still, then, to flout.
There can be no deception between out or in.
A sin rationalized is twice a sin.
What journey I traveled while lying still
has faded most, but left me to tell:
Do not go where you are beckoned
If only to appease the beckoner
As if it had any need of you;
as it to reckon were for the reckoner.
