BLADED DREAMS

The mind has been bearded for too long.

Its congregation of bristles grows

heavy with every thought.

Swaying to the breeze of fear, they bend back

towards the neuronic landscape.

This is a mass stabbing that occurs with ruthless regularity.

Hope's pantheon floats

above this punctured terrain.

They have been the introverted victors

of countless wars below.

As for the spoils of war?

Their most prized trophies are those bladed dreams

retrieved from the corpses of fallen ambitions.

It is time for a clean shave.