Something new, visual, as for all my poems, deviant manipulations created by my good self

You had brought your own thunderstorms and elegant light

 And the maps turned into tissue, turned into dust

 And the crossroad hummed with tension seductive

Stillness hiding the whirlwind within

I close my eyes and dream of the calmness

The seconds of quiet before the great shift took place

Which road do I take?

 What happens next?

Then a new suit of answers, dark fabric and yet

Seemingly comfortable, natural, and sane

Small death of a soul

In trade for uncertain serenity

I’ll take what I can get

For now