The velvet dark begins to fray at seams,
Where logic falters in the gale of dreams.
A thunder rolls upon a phantom track,
With no bowed head to guide the spirit back.
The rider gallops, wild and unrestrained,
A heart let loose, a reason unentrained;
Where intellect once held the steady rein,
Now pulse and passion gallop through the vein.
I stand beneath the weight of hollow air,
While shadows bloom with an unblinking stare.
A thousand irises in bark and stone,
I feel the watching gaze within the bone.
They are the mirrors of a frantic mind,
Seeking the truths I left so far behind;
Or are they judges, cold and sharp and vast,
Demanding penance for a muted past?
Hyper-aware, I track the splintered light,
As scrutiny dissolves the edge of night.
The rider is the ghost of all I feel—
The reckless urge that turns the heavy wheel—
While all these eyes, a constellation’s glare,
Unpack the guilt that I am forced to bear.
Am I the horseman, blind and led by heat?
Or just the watched, retreating in defeat?
The dream recedes, a frantic, clattering sound,
Leaving me lost upon familiar ground—
Struggling to parse what waking life denies:
The headless heart, watched by a thousand eyes.
