Odd Hour

ODD HOUR

The still before there was never more made such a gesture as to capture my lingering hope. Cast away doubt, as if I might prepare myself in such an odd hour. Taunting appearances return with me so off guard. Should I invite them in to be violated no more? Absent as I am so often from myself, crumbling carriage can carry no lode. As confined grey shifts blue to white drawn back to blue, not as bright today, overshadowed sights to see me through one more odd hour. Painfully lifting, tilting swiftly leaning towards blanketing wind, uplifting sights with tiring dire results. Such fruits I’ve tasted before, not remembering bleak futures meeting faster in such an odd hour. Blue turns to green, ever whiter. Shifting impulses leads to yet one more tour, of that which I never understood anymore, coming at times I need it least. Leaving me in places I never knew so little about. Frivolous activity keeps me occupied as plaster peeling seems tear, so it seems, revealed grandeur sleeping. Ashen walls enduring change. Settling no more in remembrances then settled I have in such an odd hour. Shining white, less blinding, shifting greener ever still. Sanity seeking flickering spirit in orchards of fallen fruit. Ebbing reality slips through vacant grasps reaching for something familiar as I regress into another tormenting malaise, bereft of this once tangible room. Expanding void invites them back reminding me I have been here before. Not so often enough to protect myself in such an odd hour. Looming green fading blue, forced to auburn into red. On edge, at the edge of this stained path, pushing forward following what is to follow, if it never touches my mind. Engrossing void giving way to ebon rain staining silver streaking walls, shifting blacker ever still. As still as I could be, new changes unknown to me. Chilling winds resume as they should show again. Patience. Waiting patiently.  Now I need them to help me through, as they have abandoned me in such an odd hour. Sinking deeper. Standing, shifting seems to mend broken seams, sinking deeper. Wading in crimson path, pondering tainted guises appear, meticulously removing remaining fragments of consciousness. Slipping into this unknown, though it was known before but not in this manner, this time change has abandoned that of the past. We must continue so I may return. Unmentionable concern. Any time now. Ominously leering as crimson path settles to settle about my waist. Queer sensation in such an odd hour. Lent myself to recite the past and this one shall not last in this fashion. Ebon walls blacker ever still as settling path fixes me in place. They conveniently recede indicating journeys end. Crimson path setting harder ever still. Placing me forever in such an odd hour.

 

Copyright ~ Antony Valoppi ~ 2011

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