Merry Go Round...

The wrinkled sheet still loiters around,
Waiting restlessly for its first touch
From the nerves of a vacuous mind,
Hustling, deficient of a sturdy hold.

Tepid as the rising sun, gleaming
Past the drapes of translucent mists
That have persisted for long enough
Under the vigilant night sky.

Sweeping across like an unbound storm
Through mazes of the catholic woods,
Seeking among the wreck henceforth
A leaf that remained unturned.

Timid as the withering sunset, realizing
Its inevitable lurch towards darkness,
Merrily accepting its destiny everyday
Despite being aware of its purpose.

Overhearing those countless words
The nightlong silence carries within,
Striving to retrieve the tales forgone,
Preserving impressions for life.

The wrinkled sheet still loiters around,
As arises the next dawn, tepidly.
A vicious circle follows unconsciously
With a meaning barely imminent...