Lifeless long-ago images
of my inner ruin, I
often scrounged through
the pungent dust snatching
at puzzle pieces of myself—an
implied rebuke for my reckless
years and withheld tears.
I vanished unnoticed, the
ten voices guiding my
pilgrimage, years well
spent mining priceless
diamonds from the
particle-wave expanse—poetic
insights that infused my
sentience with a sage’s
lucency.
I’ve glared into the eyes of
terror and scorned the
moments of certain death,
with promiscuous winds
I’ve shared my heart, and
tasted the blue rains of
Anterra Nin.
My newfound sanctuary is a
sheltered forest of old growth
trees, the occasional scent of
wild gardenia lingers in spring
breath.
I nearly had a visitor once.
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