The Subconcious

I walked down the road,
Where the leaves never fall,
Where the crow never screeches,
Where the child never calls.

Why might you ask,
Had the knife been so blind,
Had the truth felt like treason,
And the earth so unkind.

They root from the earth,
And they grow so surreal,
A twisted incision,
In a calm pointless field.

Dreams bloomed like sparks,
From this unwanted mind,
Leaving all thought, all reason,
In a locket left behind.

Then the earth screamed,
Like a disfigured beast,
Calling me back,
To a silence left unbreached.

Yet I tore from the ground,
I flew twirling out,
Silent, confused,
At what "it" was about.

As Icarus's child,
I fell whirling down,
The sun has burned my wings,
The sea left not a sound.