You’re the infinite blue above; I’m a nomadic bird,
Yet we don’t have any next of kin with invasive wind.

Where we can standstill and take a subterranean breathe,
I don’t contain that jiffy in protracted voyage of my mind.

I keep rubbing the coin of hope over worrywart rocks,
There’s no spark, no spirit, there’s essentially zilch behind.

All tethered up bundle of roads is writhing in front,
So convoluted, But it appears there’s no snag of any kind.

How could this tributary plunge in dreams after closing eyes,
Diluted tears on no account allow it; with flaming remind.

Old One, back to life.
Too sad to say anything more.
Ektz