15 April 2012
Quiet solitude, this peaceful moment, contemplating on memory's lost.
Many times in this state, so often spent.
Abstract thoughts sail through the mist,
Falling on waves of broken identity, trying to find my true personality.
Unsure of which or who bears my true face, how can they know what I know not?
I am not a person, I am a place.
An island of mystery, a haunted house, a sealed crypt, an inner space.
Uncertainty lingers on un-drawn conclusions,
Whole but full of divided confusions.
Warring factions of un-calculated size, hiding behind darkened eyes.
The window to the soul shows through the mysticism of the abyss,
The gateway to infinity, a personal black hole.
So many lives rolled into one, making whole what should be undone.
Caressed by emotions from the past, that are not my own, reaching across time, or are they mine?
Remnants of what was once well known, so in reality never alone.
To a thousand ghosts I am a home.
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