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Fallen are the leaves of contemplation
as unstoppable as the sun.
These familiar tastes
they never leave,
ever lingering as wine.
Music soothes and completes
when there is no solace to be found
from ones' own
ceaseless
stream
of
consciousness.
Relentless is the knowledge
of things preferred forgotten
Yet once the tastes were known
I could not choose to be ignorant of it again.
This I know.
and this I will always know.
Thrums of the sound waves
expand across the page
ripples ever growing
until nothingness is gained.
and I laugh.
How familiar...
how very familiar.
Fallen are the leaves of contemplation.
I catch them in my fingertips,
and never let them go.
And the taste of wine
still lingers
despite a specter's dream.
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