In Darkness

The search for vision
The heightened sense of reason
The sound division

Thank you to Jingle and all involved in the Thursday Poets Rally

The Silhouette Machine

As you descend into the realm of pure sadness,
Regretfully, dwell on life’s many incentives for paid effort.

Thus, a walking gimmick.

Sinking deeper into sorrow, you realise the reality that is your life; had the joy sucked out of it the day you played below the belt.

Penetrating the root of despair, all hope is lost in an endless moment in time. Dehydrated and thirsty, constantly.

Food.

That which is taken for granted, now grafted in small portions, it would barely satisfy a child.

Survival becomes key, for the next week you have a chance to change things.

Instinct overwhelms reasoning as you force yourself not to cry, because weakness you now know you cannot defy. A blurred notion of the here and now and you cannot lose.

Plea, pledge, mean to beg. A counter test or chose to steal.

Just one last chance to deal. To show that you are made of steel.
Nothing matters more than to be free, so be it a dream. The sweet roulette sound of that silhouette machine is what you need.

And before you repeat, you choke as you hold that note. Spokes in your wheels, you’re broke. On your back, defeated. Bended knees, degraded.

Therein, mother would say this; “It’s time to get off your knees and think; did you really need that one last spin?”

The Lost Children

Beautiful you are, represented by the stars.
The make up of time is illuminous.
Forced into darkness, through seductive assets translated by the cosmos.
Inspired by objects time has related to thyself.

The subjects of an intimate suppression to the quality of early manifestation. An inspiration created by the angel of light.

Distance is a concept now taken out of context.

The rush is like waterfall and crush feels exhilarating.
Together you dance, dwelling into a deeper love affair singing Ave Maria.
As the light of the stars glimmer down and bear the intent of your despair, the mass effect puts your mind at rest.
Shadows grow bigger as the road narrows and only the illuminous light can save you now.
Cracks for every footstep whilst the trees wallow into nature’s sorrow.
“This sphere accommodates unspoken wealth, let us make haste.”

The images depict the tempered fruit of age that has lost its way.
In many ways, time heals the day.
Remember, so many days begin today.

In unison they marched away. The elite at the forefront and every discipline becomes old age.
Roads paved with natural clay. Fish stream in an untainted domain.


Who knows when they shall dream this vision, whilst the light remains. Obscure and so far away.