Dormant Revival

the teardrops descend splashing around down the well of delusion
once amiss, with a steady grasp on a false reality, now crumbling with
    uncertainty
my mind spirals afar, no origin or concept of truth
for what one now knows is for but only an idea on which
    i built my castles
--they too melt in the summer sun. and wash away, with my senses.

why the grass grows so tall only to wilt over its premature advances and
dry up, like emotions lost in the vacuum that is my being, remains
    the question of the age
to drudge on may be understating but blithe before bliss tenders the soul
along a weary path.

i've strayed; astray, no more. but recollection of the dusts
of past ideals proves less like a jigsaw and near that of a sequential generator.

for not being the craftsman who shapes from such plans, causes chaos for me
    as i attempt a dormant revival.
never have the issues been so problematic, but so has been
    the lack of solutions
and hours engulfed by pondering scenarios. forsaken by my own self
    loathing
to refresh and restart the dreary cycle yet again.
'til the day arrives when circumvention
    by flushing such poison thoughts
is no longer necessary.