In the instant, it’s real to me

Is it madness
when in moments of unrivaled clarity
the cosmos drops its shy façade
to speak, candidly
to me and
me alone?

Is it madness
when the thoughts of every soul
living and dead turn to aether
and diffuse into my conscious, now
so sensitive that each time the Earth
it tingles, a billion pinpricks
against the skull?

Is it madness
when before a great tree
in an instant I relive its thousand-year past
learn its pain and cherish its triumph
knowing that those that came first
gave it a name
long lost
except to me?
I know it, I know all.
I know it, I know.

Sometime soon all this knowledge will
dissolve into pieces so fine
that no hands could put them back in
their rightful place, in glory.

Is it madness?
Is it joy, beauty?

It isn’t real
except in the moment
it is to me.

The citadel cannot hold

The fire inside burns bright
To an end I do not know
The hungering beast is awake
The citadel cannot hold

 Twelve days, twelve nights
I’ve seen them all in full, despite
the pills and sleepy time tea
The fire inside burns bright

A story, grown long, though
a masterwork, I know, I know
its tangled chapters lead
To an end I do not know

My mind is feral, its bounds do quake
its source, oh its source is no mistake
I deny, I ignore, but all for naught
the hungering beast is awake

So I see the last stand unfold
Its result, in vain, its fate foretold
I’ve reached my last, it’s done, no more!
The citadel cannot hold.