"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books."
-Thomas Carlyle

by J.E. Heath

As slumber comes upon me,
I see demons along the road.
She is an approaching storm.
I wonder where I go from here.

So beautiful in the fog,
she is so fragile in the cold.
What memories I would have
if I had known all this before.

Sounding a little hollow,
I see her crack just a little.
She'll say, "I don't remember,"
but she knows there is no hiding.

She chases after nothing,
and pretends that she can find it.
She hums a tune to herself.
It isn't her fault I love her.

I say to her, "We're not lost,
we just have a long way to go."
But, she's not really convinced.
At times I question it myself.

We're caught in a mystery
that is too loud for human ears,
it's too bright for human eyes,
and too splendid for human words.