Are you reading?

I feel you reading my words as I type,

Is this what you searched for?

Supernatural is beyond what writes,

Can you knock on the door?

Holding onto the essence named you,

I ask a simple question, a clue…

Who is truest to thee, isn’t it new?

Or is the past part time residue?

Who are you to a fragment of time?

Another link from the beginning crime,

Shed skin as angelic you climb,

Are you a black or white vine?

Softly speaking, listen to this melody,

Are your words also a part of me?

Or who the whole; in totality,

Connects us all as energy.

A symphony of living memory,

What is your ancestry?

Genetic gifts, spirits tethering,

Into your space-time mystery.

My friend, what lies beyond the bend?

Tis folded space; all is well,

Yet deep in the center is hell,

Where hatred heats the well.

Moi Aimee, listen to me,

The Styx is dead men pulling,

Us down into darkness, endlessly,

Leaving breath; suffocating.

Can you hold yourself in tears?

Where others need comfort?

Or is it an endless cyclic frontier,

Whose angry leads the charioteer.

Do you need softer words for thee?

Like mockingbirds enjoying nectar free,

Daffodils flowing feelings as a sea,

Where each wind walks with me.

Near winds speaking through your ears,

Are these words coming in clear?

Does existential communication fear,

That you live inside my words mirror.

From the beginning line, I introduced,

You to the recipe of the noose,

Yet reality is for the fittest juice,

Of who is the strongest Nous.

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