We stand in a segment of time that transgresses all other moments. The past is dead and always was. We are alive and think we aren’t. Nostalgia is chain-linked bondage to thoughts remembered. We hope to regain our peace in worlds abandoned, to be safe and secure in tepid stillness. And the sun is settingContinue reading “Ignition of Time”
Right now all it seems to be is past writings, nothing new is taking shape to flow in sparkling water on crystal pages. The sentences are disjointed and I am nothing but writers block and past glory.
This is a most wearisome age.A few drops here, a few thereAnd the night fissionsShadows start their ascent to the surface.Coalescing, apparitions of forms,Here they come again aware of their despair.The roses lay around the burning bush, their beauty ferments and that’s all I see, barefooted or not.The pagan mind lurks among the curb-stomped abortedContinue reading “Angel”