Psuedo

Poltergeist past leaves fear for the future,

The future flees back to the past.

If every time it challenged you,

Would you merely move aside?

Melancholy is masked on the horizon,

Hidden in the heavens between rays

Of orange and pink and forever.

I dare not test its will, for will

Creates the purposeless plight

That is our existence. Hold on,

The echo is a skipping record.

The voice has been dulled from

A patriarch’s roar to a dialect of

Dissonance. If tomorrow wasn’t

Promised, is it still life were living?

Would the king still order me dead?

Or would his focus turn to fellowship,

A nuance in the menagerie of mind.

Might I be a marionette? Volition is a vile task.