ST81 ... i am standing on the outside of the inside
where clocks melt over the breath of walls and words disintegrate
I am standing on the outside of the inside of where the mind looses itself. I have been somewhere around here a trillion times. It is on the edge of where the moment owns everything, where the clock melts over the breath of walls and words fall apart. I am no-one, i am everyone, i am therefore i see, i suppose.
In the corridors of my mind i see the blue tint of a shadow of you, the vague silhouette of your essence dancing before me like a fluttering raven dying. Then without warning you appear inside the station of a next world and i accept and walk thru the gate along the narrow lane to the cafe which is where i write these last few lines to remember you by.
There is nothing to know from here. It is simply a scene from a lost segment of a forgotten movie searching for somewhere to live. I loved you. You loved me. Love is a four letter word changing from one language to the next. It has its meaning wrapped around memory like the wind skimming over the surface of a branch. You can feel it in the soft glow of downy clouds falling off the end of some horizon. Love comes, love goes, is and isn't. On the long road where dreams live, love sits quiet and tender, thoughts walk in silence for a short while in the scheme of things. Everything passes, everything has its moment then ends, moves somewhere else. Everybody knows this, this is nothing new, but the gravity falls heavy between those silent moments and sometimes crashes across the highways of life hard. We move on, we find another trail, another path with a different look; hope dragging us behind.
On the outside of that stolen love simple time tells of its long coerced endeavours towards perfection. There was that first moment of intense vibration that let to this history of a life beside you. The adventures across the globe were precious, the pleasure and promised minutes stretched into a future beautiful. Life was a satisfying gallop across fields of grateful flowers and time dug itself deep into its earth. We were one for long lengths before the differences began, arguments, jealousies, disrespectful moments bend on existing. We tried everything but in the end our hearts collapsed along the shores where we had met. Exhausted and defeated, slowly we walked away, turned separately towards another shore. The pain of love lost is like falling off the end of a universe. Nothing is so deep, so vast. Somehow we do survive to live and love another day, that is presumed.
The noice is crushing the calm in here. I see your lovely smile emanating from walls across the room. You and the books are all untouchable, laying their claim upon miles of shelves, a zillion situations from humanities imagination. I walk past unaware of the glue that binds it all together. I see free thru the air. There is nothing that holds me close. The brisk day is sitting on the coats by the coffee cups and chatter. The world of people seems rather absurd from here. I can see the whole cafe from this position in the back along the hall with all the music embedded into the plaster from years of strained activity by the kitchen of pricey organic food. This is the Garage Cafe. I am a regular. I write of the world from here. This is the perfect position for a person like me. I can see everything from this seat. I can be in Wroclaw, the East Village, Minsk, San Miguel de Allende, there is no place i can not be, everything i know i know, i am the world from here.
From one cafe to the next i see the fake gestures accumulate. There are kind words in moments between but mostly this world has separated souls, has turned beauty into a product, a pleasure for the ones that have enough or more. I saw a group of natives all in their own worlds crouched over like feeble old men. Chinese fentanyl pushed into the north and their veins by cartels for money, money, and ultimately a communist house.. little concern left for the human home. Find them when they're down and dig them into the ground until their worlds are so black, death is their only saviour.
I see a lone crow waddling along a wire, high and above these streets watching this world of man, cars wiz by, a light rain lines itself on an angle down to the tar below. I watch with a skeptical eye the movement of grey air with no desire to comprehend, live within, be a part of… but be a part i must, the very nature of being alive demands one to connect, the heart or the mind, rich or poor, compromise or fall.
Now, it’s a group of crows, gathered by the train line, picking away at some homeless bags scattered by a few collapsing tents. The ones without are expanding across the nations, the super super wealthy and the severely impoverished is the game in this street below. Robots, new citizens just ahead in the near-future. Large quantities of humanity are being eliminated by various methods with an audience applauding for an encore. 'Get the shots'. There must be another cafe ahead.
Note From The Editor of the WeyWord Times:
I do appreciate your readership! My plan is to keep this a free publication. However, if you enjoy, are amused/inspired reading these woven words and would like to show me some support, please buy me a coffee or a paid subscription.
Thanks for your response
Buy me a coffee !
WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
Hang Me Up…. Images
From: heatherkelrix@gmail.com
Well
I feel you found my Lost poetry book!
Heavens !
My Raven , Ravquine picture was in it!
Your words R Sooo well done!
Reflective , Intimate , alive !
With tender truth shining thru your teared eyes!
Yet so apropos, with the Insanity of Now’s Times
Cloaked into the last scene of our to soon
Demise !
Well done Sir
You inspire me !
Perhaps I shall start a new poetry book!
Heather K Elrix
Psst💫
I would love to buy you a coffee!