Still a war of creative chaos staggers my head –

wouldn't mind foreseeing debacle ahead,

time allotted to keep heart from being bled;

Silence treads soft yet timid,

grieving sights bleached vivid;

Aura riven harshly mangled,

defiled mass proportions wrangled,

half frozen frights stay hidden at a dangle,

grip and grasp tight vilely tangles;

Rippled ducts swell,

tripled shades pale,

dream you may be caught in mind fields sweeping spells....

limbs numbing bruises impart rest of self-nightingale,

sweet elements ear gazed as readily air inhaled,

Yet –

one can hardly decipher truths from misguided tales.