When we are born no one ever guaranteed us employment for the rest of our lives, happiness all the time ie our heart would never ache or that we would be lucky enough to live out all our days...but we take solace in the fact that all moments good or bad are truly fleeting.
This hunk of flesh I'm trapped in is a suit that houses, protects my spirit or holds it prisoner. And what can be said for all the incessant thoughts which pour from it? A break in the madness can't be half bad; After all death itself may just be welcoming.
In the mining fields I've come to know dismantled wings who needed attention, redemption or fixing for the monster serpents of us; now further degraded. disfigured. by the sea you drug along over head.
In sun lit river waters run where they might've mocked me but I return to their brown curbed spaces pathways by day; in their basin shaped dreams at night and together we float up into impressionable passages of literary heads first Those pockets...etching closer the pouring across stone- heart; gaffled by the repositories of hope who still stand journey full/ journey expectant.