ST174 ... It’s of no use..
There are no questions answered in here.
It’s of no use. Why, why would it appear! There are no questions answered in here. The night time comes in and weaves and leaves as it pleases. There is nothing one can do. Be. Be there, that is all any sane brain would do.
I miss you. I miss knowing you are near. A freind to trust, to tell all to. I miss our love.
Time tears, gentle and harsh. There is no need to rush, to here or anywhere. Time will take its time to tear us apart…. torture our souls with temporal memory until we’re sick of it. Hide in someones arms. Create a new landscape with all the missing parts displayed for all to see. There is no use, pondering here… memories slicing thru eternity, slashing the canvas with an embrace impossible for paint.
In the street James heads up into the cloud, picks a few abstracts, attaches tight around a few dying dreams, has a coffee with an old friend in a franchise spread across the globe and talks about caring for humanity with politics. The spirit of ancient history floats in from reminiscing proud moments just before the turn into freedom occurred and then the fall from grace of youth.
A moment of silence entered the space between and then it was back here in modern times along the boulevards of progress.
I sat there in my room watching from below the movement in silence. I couldn’t quite grasp the right word to describe the essence of it all. I wandered by uncertain unknown. Not one noticed, not even the suffering ones with their hearts flaming blaming naming. Ends were everywhere ending, falling off cliffs midstream, precarious threads dangling attaching to thin air across landscapes of vacant desserts and crowded streets.
There was nothing left to do but leave. Leaving ending going moving into freedom for the cost of a dream, and all dreams waged for for the big serenity, heaven, paradise, the perfect attitude, a heart full of love.
It’s not over yet, the doorman says, this one is for you, come on in, get on out.
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WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
esp like your 'boulevard of modern times' image