Frosted Pains

I listen but hear nothing

What I hear does not exist

ticking of a heartbeat

a system about to split

Encased in wicker, am I not?

Feigned memories are nigh

want to go back when I had ambition

back to a time neither old nor tried

Sitting alone in black and white

My friend: the frosted pane

Deterioration is my plight

a mind just never to be right

So the elm once spoke to the lark

“Why must you fly when you could be rooted?”

“Because each wing beat, a new breath,

why, I do not fear forthcoming death.”

Yet I will not die with my own thoughts

staring toward the new day,

the good day

when nothing is not.