Sunder

Outdated soul,
clinging onto its dissipating fancies.
The moaning in its embrace,
shriek along creaky
passageways of the self.
Sullen, barren, one light
ushering the pilot through
murky alleys he pines to inspect.
The site was mute,
damp concrete elevated steps,
bodily functions heard,
thoughts were the last companion,
combating meaning that never arrived.
The loving soul,
brazenly forgiving its fancies
for coming up short with impetus,
left the pilot unkempt.
Predictions of panic began to appear,
breathed at speeds that dried up the ground.
Protrusion abides till severance.
The pilot's fading halo
is his to comprehend,
and continuously search for its origin.
Its beginnings were fair and joyful;
honest and of pure intention.