Mind-tired,
 akimbo and askance
 the twirling imbalance 
 and involuntary disappearance
 of right procedures.
 
 Lifestyle adjustments gone the way 
 of Rock and Rye,
 longing for pineapple sweetness,
 while immobile 
 within the splatter
 of one’s own uniqueness.
 
 Lost in concussed redemption,
 skeletal wandering in forest
 of pretense,
 though devoted, 
 thoroughly, 
 to donning wings
 and mask of
 angelic impersonation. 

 There was a time back then,
 when the closest to a smile he could conjure
 was a dissatisfied smirk,
 targeting his malaise.
 
 He avoided mirrors;
 
 convinced that his desires were misguided,
 at best,
 he smothered in masks of self-preservation,
 nurtured in solitude,
 exhausted in cast-iron stealth,
 yet
 with someday hope.
 
 Someday hope.
 
 The planets aligned
 then,
 out of the blue,
 like an angel whispering
 a gentle major chord
 that crescendoed into
 a dream of flying.
 
 Now,
 in this free play towards oneness,
 in this avalanche
 his agnostic soul
 begins to call blessings,
 
 he knows,
 he has been delivered 
 from the non-linear,
 when nothing was straight-forward;
 
 with the last laugh of relief,
 he soars 
 into the loving embrace 
 of everything,
 of everyone
 of himself.