In dreams, realisation,
A frame figured in front of me.
I questioned what living,
This was, this disasterous dwelling done.
And it made all the matter to me,
to think of all the missing notes in my melody.
This melancholy, desynchronisation,
Of drums beating upon waking.
And yet I canter on in cemented paths,
Seeking refuge in random occurences.
So unfulfilled and immensely engulfed,
in loneliness with my vice of vino verritas.
This poem can be read on poetry.com – http://poetry.com/poems/245023