reccuring are the thoughts

dismal are dreams. 
I know now of greater truths
of what the future brings
 
i
posthaste I pass through
posthaste my spirits turns
in this body grave
 
ii
I march up this hill again
feeling ill, and akin to Sisyphus
haunting may be the future
but east I soon go.
 
iii
west is where you go
when there is nowhere else
 
iv
east is where my temple is.
I go somewhere beyond my dreams.
 
v
my heart is aflame
blood pumping like rubedo
here I meditated
rebuilding my soul