In a room with no doors

I await the Arrival
of my muse like
a condemned man
awaits
his hanging ,

in the final moments
of normalcy
the heart beats faster
like high pitch and rise
of inspirational song
sung thru vortex
of sound running
into gale-wind
like a dingy
in the rip-tide . . .

RedTide dream at sunset :
Ominous harbinger - O
Impressionable mind to think
whilst visions permeate and steep
clouding the eye with perceptive fogs

A blanket of inebriation w/ musty smell
moldy mushrooms and Spanish tea . . .

Although Spring arrives
there is no Hope
of a sunny day coming

there is no hope
in the re-emergence of our Savior

The people are Hopeless -
with emptiness and ignorance ,
chasing each other's tails ,
bedazzled with bells and whistles
as they pass . . .

the Heart's pine.
the Mind's quagmire.
the Thistle's heal.
Dead bouquet of roses.

Whether it is now
the day or night
it matters little
in a room with no
windows

One has little distance
to travel
In a room w/o Doors . . .