My Reckoner

‘What of it, unhinged frames displaced,
Confusion displayed, and yet, dreamt last;
As I fell, causing a ripple of despair, echoing
Through my old, hollow bones, questioning
Everything around me, from the roots below
And the branches above, so who would know,
Who would whisper a desire, blow out a fire,
Steal a soul, and then, set ablaze on a pyre,
Like a shore, with its riddles, holes & woes,
I can't completely disappear, so who knows,
But by truth unbent, a darkness help shows.’

‘A day distracts night, a night distracts day;
Jobless days & sleepless nights, you'd say,
One of one, loving & hating, but I didn't stray,
And the most joyous of these thoughts
Came not from its post present moments,
But from a memory, like truth unbent, I knew
What I didn't expect, and I knew—I tell you!—
Of the most saddest & happiest experiences
I refuse to forget, and what are the chances
That I may stray away, in a night or in a day,
Dying & decaying, dreamlessly resting,
Smiling as a single tear falls, reflecting everything.’

‘Ah, why is it so sad, and yet, so happy—
So sad & happy at the same time?—O, Why?
An unsung song sow its very soul within me!
—Why must it be this, only this, and just this?
So some see it, that's what it seems for now,
And some live it, some dream it, some show,
And some hide, but I suffer through it!—
My howling spectre, heaven's ultimate gift,
Cursed wings, a dark tower of hidden balladry,
My melancholia, my calm state of insanity,
Beyond a wanderer's mind, an unusual sickness,
My temple of dreams, an inner cosmic madness,
I am in a place where I truly know I belong;
Suffering & enjoying, dancing to this song,
Caught up it all its complete confusion,
And hating & loving through self-destruction.’

‘I thank this person, and as my hollow bones
Still echo through me like haunting moans,
Still stretching thinly within me, and groans,
Spewing every syllable, rippled with riddles,
Riddles rippled with my laughable struggles,
Eyes closing & tearing up, dropping sounds of a drum,
Every beat setting lose a foot, so foretold
A carrier of expression, a forged force folds
When the hammer strikes our core of gold,
Shines & blinds, like a stolen kiss, or lips sown,
A master caught in his own soft, distorted tone,
And what could grasp it, unless it was I,
An idiot poet who can't help but try or lie,
Now doesn't that make you unset and cry?
We can't completely disappear, so who knows,
But by truth unbent, a darkness help shows,
And as it shows, thanking this familiar stranger,
The very first Dead Dreamer—My Reckoner!’