On The Way

Been on my way for a while.

Guess you can call it a journey.

No comparisons to a trip or travel,

this movement of A-B takes place within me.

A hidden element of shifting sands.

Blackly purple in colour.

Each bit of my trip an emotional thing,

coloured by feelings that I care not to understand.

Why?

It detracts from the music, that I max out.

This record player goes up to twelve.

The three of them dance.

Are they in my poem, the song, my mind or hovering in the ether?

My judgment is hazy purple.

I digress and float away.

Sylphs haunt me.