Language Is Useless

Sanity rattles imagination
as dark sensations gather quiet thoughts
and lifts them into horrible chaos,
rational sighs strike the mind's eye then whisper
coloured possession's ghost story terror.

As wide as a blank stare, I measure love,
spin its violence through complexity's greed,
there are enlightened moments in a flame,
but here in the halls of boredom's promise
I ignore wild flickers while laughter snaps.

Expression spits the spirit into dust;
dry emotional value, bloated scenes
of deceased desert imagery, I smile,
crack attitude's fine characteristics
then stumble down cold shattered reflection.

Language is useless in pools of decay,
communication's erratic gestures
are puppets in a carnival's wagon,
I, we, us, pluck humanity's thick strings
before twirling like a dancer to fear.

Impossible moods slice an arena
of activity; a spiralled silk mass,
as different dimensions shuffle chords,
it's a musical extravaganza
inside the crease of a warm weary heart.