flash of a neon light.

fear roams the rooms of this hollow dream
of which i stare into, ignoring the seam.
the stitches laugh in voices unknown,
tenors and baritones of the earth below.

I walk the line between the two: dream and earth.
my visions cloud the sky with a pulsating silence
and the light
touches
the horizon
where the clouds share death with rain
and bleed
into the silent well.

The echoes of memories ripples the ocean,
flows like mountains of nothing
until touching The door.
Signs lead the way,
but death is in the wake
of silence.
and life follows the thought;
the muse's touch;
the lightning eyes-
filled with music from the cloud God
i believe in.....
but..
also created.

How does meaning grow from cobblestone eyes?
Late at night, who whispers in the ears of the air?
Why would the Great One ask for passiveness?
Why not growl the thunder?

Why not touch ants with the prophet of darkness?
Why the promise of pain?

Naked light's voices roam the yard
haunting and
screaming
words of derision.
But silence is all that cools the grass here.
Forever.
Just voices no one shares.
No one can touch.
NO.