The silver dove flies again,
it has been a long cold slumber,
since my eyes have stared upwards,
to golden skies so serene,
where crystal clouds dangle lifelessly,
The thoughts once flowed so effortlessly,
now a straight topic is only a dillusion,
and chaos ensues unhindered and freely,
a message delivered only by prescription,
add to the torment and enliven the pain,
snapping and crackling burning all away,
wonders still sought and buried far beneath,
orbiting the central core of fictional bars,
drinks with known strangers sets it apart,
the pounding persists and phalanges do shake,
servile perceptions of stalwart beliefs,
diminish the fortitude decay the expanse,
one more lonely walk down nighttime path,
snow falls and land as though not treaded,
future holds a timeless meadow of beauty,
present destruction of body for the mind,
and yet above all still flies the silver dove.
I turn the willow weaping,
Into a showpiece standing,
my dog now crying,
to a grandeur god flying,
yet the moon will still wane,
and the silver dove flies again.
Engender the now sapless recreant image,
begat by the selfless desire of the selfish,
endangered by the selfish desire of the selfless,
turning wheels in thought and spinning around,
frictionless non-entity brings turmoil now,
overstated understanding helps nothing anymore,
understated understanding not to be found,
the corpse rots away and feeds off the ground,
trailed by a rainbow unveiling pots of gold,
tuned out but in the radio plays too loud,
too softly to be heard and too quiet to care,
footsteps frozen in ice a shoe left behind,
barefoot and crying glittering ice cube tears,
and yet above all still flies the silver dove?