Who can bare so much reality?

A sequence of events, linear,
Smeared all over my face.
A kite hanging in the storm.
Platonian void, but this one
the Beholder took as its own.

Let them stare, gawk, trip
with elation over moments
not yet born. Hidden features
will fall away while leveling.

A heat is hiding in the morning chill.
Yet the apathic release of energy
only leads to a standstill. Where
now do we hide from the storm?
So gentle is the darkening night.

Later I will neatly fold my silent

(c) Casteleijn MG. 2017
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