Closure

tethered tinkering

layed up in the middle of the night, new demons of night fright a galloping in the hole next to the once swimming and solid soul.

Traversing eons in the wakeful hours of slumber, to awake to another sunrise with a dreaded umber, absolution and desolation the reality in the wee hours of night have not made it back to this realm of light,.

The flying swimming the city scapes ever traversing with mental abilities,.
A world yet still of constant invaders, ever ready and willing to devour you with scourge.
Yet the light does come and the vagrants are still there,.
Ever present and always with a good stare,.
Look them in the eye and they always disappear
Yet to return and loot another day, night,. But each time with no fright.
Ripen in the time of our day, the plenty and the weak, the few and the strong, the glint at the difference of interstellar right and aboriginal wrong.
Steady demons playing the pan flute, with the fire light of wiccan lore
stay silent in the suture,