in fact the stars were his map.
the strays were his monetary value
which was ultimately what kept his life intact.
sewn together by the stitches of his imagination
he knew the sound quiet had the
ability to create. and recreate stroke by stroke.
he became what the tide would would wash up
as his waves of insecurity took him down
with the current. his increasing bouts
of madness had become a burden on everyone.
what wasn't there was...
and what was there was slowly, but surely
becoming drastically irrelevant.
as the night would approach and the
sun would head west a darkness would fall
he could not begin to fathom.
during all theses bouts
leagues under the sea
there were moments he would close his eyes
to shadow himself from a reality
he could barely believe,
let alone be an integral part of.
this darkness was a bedfellow of a
silence that could break any man no
matter the circumstance.
the strength not to imagine.
the darkness would present him
with the appropriate meaning of the word:
alone. there were always the stars.
the single constant in this otherwise
mysterious conundrum his life had
decided to reinvent itself as.
pointing his way in the silence
and blindness when all was
wayward and becoming more unknown.
he knew this was his connection
to the sanity he feared would leave
him. a sanity he often wondered
the value of.