At The Bottom of Solemn Movement

Quell
this uneasiness that disturbs
This warped sense of lunacy
Rising as stars fall
their sockets hang
with the muted cries
of monomania
 

Fear
fails  to penetrate consciousness
Like a deciduous tree splintered
leaf and  limb rolled
into a bundled fag,  
stuffed into the corner
No longer able to shout,  
anything to anyone.

Wait
be  still,  for the iridescent
 wingtips of obscurity to
 bring awareness like sunshine
melted, into imagery that
quenches my parched mind

Collect
me at the bottom,  preserve
me from destruction in a jar
 so I may breathe of happiness
 at the boundary of solemn
 movement.