Mood is my body
manifesting itself
through subtle levels
too light to touch
too faint to hold.
The remains of my lost thoughts
fall without making a sound
without leaving a trace.
How do I speak
of harmony
of light
and the process of the rose?
I have come through
twisted from the labyrinth
emerging fully formed
from the tunnels of time.
It is all a colorful pattern
yet fearsome and dark,
a strange loop
where words are arranged
in spiraling currents
a sequence discarding logic
a structure without
a stable frame.
No need here
for a physical body
just a seed
containing the process
and the freedom
that brings it life.
I remain
an unknown mass
a life impulse
a lustful fountain
a fading thought.
