ST19 ... Minds of all Kinds
Through Hard Rains Across Shades of Time
There are minds of every kind. Simple ones, complex, loving ones, opposites. Minds desperate for love, travelling through the known, landing in the presence of clarity, beautifully and rarely. There are minds that live to control, live to dominate, love to manipulate. These times are their times. Endless opportunities, for the cafe coffee maker to the elite on his yacht. All with a similar purpose. To be in charge, a self directed form of distemper, psychotic disorders, eventual insanity.
The cooperators are a minority in these times, hidden in the laundry rooms in the outskirts of the thickness of it all.Â
There are minds tortured thru neglect, lame ones, disarmed pawns and the abused in service departments waiting for saviours. There is a mind for every degree along this trail. The great re-adjustment is foaming at the seams. Madame Glorious lured down paved streets of sweet and wild lust, homes with digital-pleasures of pure and tainted love. The weary are crying lonely crawling for salvation. These winds are slick and clean from minds well versed in the poetry of the night.
There is but one mind some say, but one love, others envision one agenda in one world. The disputed biology of the inner terrain is killing the dream of the natural, its diversity. The war in the mind is the war in the streets, the separation of the one of the many.
There are minds that secretly and openly hate and torture life, that love beauty, that cry silently and smile soft. These are the times of mass minds falling into the darkness of their own making. These are the times fools will awaken and perish.Â
The night is closing in, the bells have almost stopped. It is time to walk alone past the bustling streets, into the darkness of the alleyway to see the mind stretched out there before you like a dream full of life, strife, full of dead memories and dying themes with one single-lane-road heading out. Through the lowlands, the grasses across the prairies, the humility on knees surrendering down upon the earth. This is the way to escape being the feast of the beast, there on the horizon of light where all darkness falls, past the hard rains across the shades of time, where one is one.
The lone traveller with his dark hat and web of love is in us all. The mind wraps itself around a few thoughts for awhile, a lifetime, but something more dear and clear remains. Presumptions, conspiracies, facts hidden on purpose; assumptions, ramble around the minds of man in all their wondrous design. The minds of man are many, of the sea and pure in their essence. Certainty is not clear here in the deserts of dispute; in the mind it feels strong, wet and real; but remains a mystery surreal.
a coffee. a like, a whisper.
WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
My Work …. Images - sales
Many humans are in this category one way or another: These are the times fools will awaken and perish.
Most human thoughts are directed towards destruction of some kind, fools having no awareness, that's a problem.
God, that's beautiful. Made me cry, in a good way, Wey. xo