I'm going into hiding, a school of pink perch think they see me. They are swimming as one. They have their own ideas, as i, but confirmation is blurry. What they think they see is hardly anything more than their own reflections. The water is bent. Whatever they see is not what i see. Time to move further underground, get far away, drink another glass of that dark matter, throw myself under the bus before they do, get away far, ask the earth for the strength to be, whatever it is i might be predestined to be. I don't know that. I don't believe in that, i don't disbelieve…… i don't know. Belief is a bunch of words ordered to collect its end, a sentence with a period. Broken words can't end well.
I'm on my way out. I can see the grey skies engulf the lands. Prehistoric figures are tempting me to divide. I will have nothing to do with this for the time being, time - being so linear as it is, along here.
In the distance i can see the women of my dreams fading across the horizon. She was magnificent, a perfect entity. She was striving to be something. I never quite figured out exactly what it was but i could feel the spirit wavering around her heart. Time and space doesn't always unite for more than a few years the way we would like it to. Ideals move about like leaves dancing along a dusty road thru an autumn wind. One minute they're safe from the cold and the next they're freezing out on a limb.
your love was like gold
at the end of a rainbow,
vague and unattainable
I gave it my best.. no i didn't. It is what it is. That's the easy explanation. In the end we all die, that's another conclusion. I prefer to watch the sky unfold. The present weaves back and forth between the future and the past, but it's always present. Thoughts get in the way of the moment nearly all the time. I must move on, that is a certainty as far as one can know. So i lift my chin to the directions. It is always west on this path, the darkside owns these times. In moments as such one must dive into the silence, there is no other way, as dark and fierce as it may be, it is blanketed with glowing feathers in the end. Courage is natures gift, the blessing is in the doing.
The sky turned bright, i could see a horizon moving my way. I followed a few words off into the distance and caught a perfect breath just before the descent into where mystery meets wings and which is where it over looks everything.
Back in the groove, flying in the free wave of time.
The meaning i depended upon is dead, dying, falling apart. It hurts to watch it go, watch it glow as it dissolves into thin air where everything disappears and consequently appears. Meaning comes and goes like a mirage on a dessert sandscape. Love is that way. Memory slowly fades into the river of mind, regressing, caressing, tenderly falling away from itself, breaking into smaller and smaller fragments as diminishing fractals towards infinity. My love wounded and soft winding around these bends of time melting into that long distance, this eternity. I watch with one last look this pulse of touch vibrating in the winds of my heart and moving into this nothingness thru my mind.
I'm going now.
On the ledge by the window sill to the most distant, i feel you, your tender spirit, your fierce heart. In the shadows down by the simple stream i stumbled upon a few messages meant for you. I have forgotten them now, were they important, they whispered words like wind and rain… and in that silence, i saw your fate and i moved on, gone.
Buy me a coffee !
WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
Hang Me Up…. Images
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Haunting. So compelling, this constant striving to express the inexpressible, but it has to be followed nonetheless, trying to reach through, trying to understand, the shifting moments, the illusory layers, this deceitful reality, all the complex emotions, it is worth the pursuit, testing imagination, breaking through, looking at everything, the ugly, the beautiful, the dark and the light and trying to work out how the hell you ended up here, because it's so obviously not home.
I liked the comparison of you watching the fish and the fish doing whatever they do...and at the end with you being at the window sill is poignant...like the mother that leans out to watch her breasts spill forth to beckon her children forth...the fullness and the emptiness....goodbye dear mother, I loved you too, an afterthought....as she was gone into the stillness and that is all I ought to know and feel...something is lost and nothing is gained...you are an evocative writer.