Awakened from one’s nightmare’s grief
solemn solitary soul twisted inward bound
conscious visions grim, existence without relief
self realization, cruel facts; face what must be done.
 
The seat, sixth taken humbly as one of tabled eight
upon this moment the truth spoke, you are alone
against the start, subconscious dimmed
all life behind you, a past is finally gone.
 
A room, this place; walls white without the pads
its door is opened to opened doors beyond
sole line of sight the morning sun behind
who comes or what awaits this moments bend.
 
Mind’s tightness stiffens, this thought responds
from thinking’s pose await an echo’s call from down the hall
life’s mysteries stress this waiting pinned
upon the backdrop of an individual whose lot was drawn.
 
Quiet as murmurs fade, ringing pressures one mind to drink
of thought, most likely cause to deeply moan
blurring vision, eye’s stare, what’s seen of mind within
that clock of this one life, as it ticks towards its oblivion.
 
Michael Darrell Walker

(2010)

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