Wheel of wind and water

Im in a transitioning phase in my life where i don't know who i am so this prose is dedicated to myself


I could well be deliberately burying myself in a grave where i want to bring all thoughts
and emotions to a standstill, my eyes seem to rotate like the clock that watches the clock of time
flashing forwards and backwards,
and as i rest in the epitome of silence,
two or three more faces hover over the frosted glass of mirror and  other mirrors move around them like  marchers of the dead, but the dead can't see what the dead doesn't know.  This melancholic wind of morrow molests me under my skin, jading the one true feeling of thing  that lifts  me up from the  shadow  of the desire to fly! with  the fields of horses amongst purple seas, and cyan sands, perhaps even yellow trees