Night calls the living thoughts
Day remembers them with fuzzy detail.
Connected paths mix with within
Falling situations make their place.
The thought
The mood
The passing
Become a single strand.
Never knowing how things will end
The begining just as astranged.
Holding a feeling deep and hidden
Becomes the new position.
Stage set but never the exact
Smelling a smell but not in the air.
Tasting apon the lips
Only felt on the back of the tounge.
The look of the area before the third eye
Never blinking, aginst the view.
Hands outright, fingers attentive.
Only the thought makes it compelle.
Tense moment followed by darkness
No smell No touch
No taste No view
Darkness around, sinking back down.
Try as the might to be back once from.
Remembering what was there.
Afar as it has ever been.
