Scrolls of Red Doves
I ride through this passage of time salivating
From the top of my mouth the sacrosanct vigilance.
I taste darkness to recall the light,
Spooky sincerity cunningly hid its face from my heart,
My heart is not defined.
I can only catch a glimpse of it in this world of smothered thoughts,
This thinking that is frozen in mid- air by red doves,
Forming a shape of consecrated letters written by the ancients.
I can only devour this unwelcome scene.
I am being forced to stare and decode the language written against the white sky.
Since when did the sky turn white? Or, maybe it has always been.
Perhaps the iris of my soul painted blue divinity against it
Forming so-called clouds.
These haunting clouds deceive me with their unusual vibrancy.
If I efface the blue, I will turn it into whiteness once again.
Surely my voyage will eventually end, or my sight will wash me onto yet another shore,
Of yet another world deceiving.
And I will have to decode the doves of poignant colors.
I will have to decode the sky once again.
Oh my brilliant journey shall never cease!