Philosophical

Being quidnunc, 
I skim around for ears 
to discover barren wastelands, 
accoyed. 
 
I look inward, 
for my wanion, 
to find myself walking on 
a blood caked crust of 
causerie. 
 
In evaluations of 
such red clay, 
of weathered flesh 
stretching outward unto 
the waters of infinity, 
I cry. 
 
Tired and distraught, 
I seek refreshment 
as rain breaks through ink, 
screaming deliverance 
from the heavens 
which fall 
achromatic... 
like my tears. 
 
In this moment, 
the magnaility of the secret 
strikes me mute; 
sempiternal.

Sempiternal