Deconstructing Citadels

The citadel imploded gradually,

a pernicious demise in the wavering gloaming .

Within the halls, battered walls, and earthen stones

the blood of memories, lust, and death thrummed precariously—

yet another fall was in order.

The citadel could be whatever you’d like—that’s the beauty of metaphors.

It could represent your life, relationships, or a multitude of other positives and negatives.

Regardless, the citadel is falling—

weakening from the inside out, assuredly set for an imminent demise.

What truly matters—or rather—what lends this image a sliver of credence,

is the manner of its destruction.

You should be focusing on that—the process of dissipating inward, as the exterior is gradually devoured.

Again, droves of symbolism can be drawn from the nature of this “citadel”—

yet this citadel is yours alone.

I shall not filter suggestions, or imbue suppositions into the likes of your mind—

rather, read and let be:

for the author is a construct evanescent in reach.

Road's End

The road led here,

but it leads no more..

This slab does little justice,

the epithet: a mocking understatement

to the enormity of an ethos,

an era-defining desire to expand spiritually—

a perennial reinvention of the soul.

Miles inevitably run out, odometers read “zero”—

is this the tortured end you so prophetically feared:

the darkness eternal, suffocating

—the curse of inertia—

kinesthesia’s bane?

The holiest of ghosts & goofs have decorated and decried

their various misrecognitions of you.

Yet, I see the maw that devoured you;

feel the frenetic blood fury that spurned you—

Yet, I stand alone above you,

six feet from ever truly understanding anything

at all.

One road ends, another begins..

I’ve doggedly traced your frantic footsteps for years,

treaded the very infinities you defined—

yet this loamy road is yours alone,

and it is here our paths must inevitably

diverge.