Reflections Club

I pick up the book ends at the end of someone's day.

Perched, vertical posture the astute learner of days future past.

Homage to the islands where the ideas that breed too soon live out their agony.

Search parties liberating the society of intentionally lost scholars.

Electronic heart beats follow the hypnotic drum line, tethered on the flag pole skipping in and out of time.

No one understands that it all comes through in waves.

Wafting in from the wide open sea.

Feelings uncharted, the winds and gale against our ropes courageous breaths, no hopes of trying.

Faces forgotten against the mesh, ether, as the dead lights of midnight journey us to our struggle between right, and wrong.

Lost we will see, as the boats we peddle circle the harbor docks where terror, and our crime scenes paint the Halloween aesthetic as we lean into the campfire ghost stories of our past.

The reality anchors, and chains held down in suspense existing on the terms we can.

Flooding through the catacombs of betrayal.

The candles peel back the best clues I get.

My face forever contorted in lament.

These feelings seem to get out of hand.

These feelings tend to get out of hand.