Lost in the matrix

Lost in the Matrix

When the beauty of the ethereal
Envelopes the esoteric mind
The natural boundaries
Of language expand
To fill the empty lines

No one knows and none can tell
The darkness, that within the matrix dwells

Only those who
Having experienced in part,
With heavy burdens laden
Upon their hearts

Can see the unseen
There in the dark
Their destiny carved out
With their very own hands

A perfectly useless piece of machinery,
Working overtime from the comfort of my bed,
Beating away at irrational paces,
Reimagining moments in my head,
Replaying scenes from my movie,
Changing the script when the conversation is dead,
Fixating on error and warning signs,
But the butterflies don’t digest well after a while,
My body is beating the odds,
Calculating perfect reactions,
Winning arguments,
Charming pick up lines,
Effortless conversations,
A perfect actor,

My true love is a nightingale,
shy singer in a shady lee,
or gorgeous bird of paradise:
that rainbow-colored symphony.

Sometimes she is a turtle dove,
a gentle bird, naive, unwise.
At night, bodacious bird of prey
that swoops, like death, from savage skies.

At times she is a wee wan wren:
a frail and fragile feathered thing.
Some days she soars like eagle bold
on most majestic, mighty wing.