Quiet, Vibrant

I can’t help but hide from this envious moon, clinging to the sky like ivory on oak. Intertwined fibers of its circumference gleaming, outside, nostalgic avenues form rivers, streaming. I can’t help but stare at these silent walls, repelling cold air with magnetic aversion. Headlights shine lambent, photonic, reflecting; inside, dark paint glitters, diverting, infecting. As the immoderate stars watch over us, burnished, the fear of hereafter is compelling, yet mystic. I watch from my chamber, I listen, I wait; a schema, cognition, they must procreate. Why do I hide from an obscure world? Outlining boundaries, fearful, despondent. Expressions vague, a world aside, these factions of cryptic doth not subside. Why be afraid of a future forthcoming? For thou shall come quiet, vibrant, becoming.