Burning Question

Forever toiling unseen gardens
Drinking nectar
The juice runs down your chin

Deeper yet into pitch I plunge
Crawling onto the muddy banks
Crossing the threshold
Nothing short of perfection

Stirring inside
Shimmering obsidian
Fractal corridors
A cosmic duality
Taking shape
Ever forthright
Spasmodic apparatus
Taking shape
Being reborn

The burning question is not if but when?
(Curving back within myself, I create again and again)
Mangled white hot iron clenched in my hand
Casting the first stone again
Aching sockets long for light
Nourished on scraps of serotonin
The burning question is not if but when?

(A sea of treachery, the wave crashes through)