poetry

a daydream’s peril

simply spoken, I do not know
if it’d be still owned
within myself– anymore
displaced, from its home
this, the echo-hollow
having filled itself
with more of itself– overgrown
its legions, its incarnations
bloated and swollen
and its claw-finger children
whose eyes haven’t glimmer
and whose mouths, sealed, never sing hymns

tho who’ve mumbled their poems
lurk, hungered–
birthing shadow within every crevice
where once each’d existed, as wishes
ambling, golden, like dust specks
floating without burden of earth
upon slender-amber rays of sun
aye, no place remains
in which a soul
might dare again
a daydream’s peril

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Eric

I've come to write.

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