It Is until It Ain't

Loose, wilting steps that forever haunt the mind,
firmly lose definition in the presence of the eternal grace,
that gently holds resemblence to no other place,
where crackling, short, sharp, snapping noises seem,
as if in a waking dream,
to impose over the whispering, wimping wind,
as a sign of contempt due to the knowledge,
earned in a mad man's world, that all roads lead,
to the inevitable oblivion that your reflection refuses to feed.

Nigel H. A. "Cucu" Yan Homme