deepundergroundpoetry.com
Flatlines
Tis a strange life
In this forest of self.
How the passing
Of seasons is marked
By fallen leaves,
Looming like a shed skin reflection
Of a becoming which
Became a becoming,
Under a panorama
Of shape shifting introspection -
From setting suns,
Painting the world
In celestial visions,
To flatline sunshine -
Straightening the mind
In
Flatlines.
Published 10th Mar 2022
Author's Note
The day belongs to the people;
the night belongs to the person.
the night belongs to the person.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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