The lost moments… (stop and watch)

The lost moments… (stop and watch)

the lost moments
the bullet train that blazes ahead the day at work, all aboard, the pace is something to behold, or to dread, or to embrace, or to blink, and it ends, I try to take the lost moments and make them mend or at least carry, carry through like a photo or a token of a memory, or of something pleasant, the moment before I get in my car in the morning, before I hit that commute, throw my arm over the window and gaze, before that usually awful drive like bumper cars that never meet, except some do and that just causes delays for the rest, the sick game of in and out and the rush and brush, the lanes, the change, the tolls and the toll, so no, before I get into my torture capsule, before that trap, I take a moment, whether the weather permits or not, to soak in the sounds and sights around my humble suburban life, there is always something around, a least a squirrel, or a robin or two, something that moves, the tops of the trees in the backyard swaying perhaps, the smell of fresh leaves or grass, something, something is there to be grasped, a refuge from the iron clad and concrete monsters that await my fate, so take those lost moments, give them a home in your mind and heart, for even an instant can be the start, a mental locket and so store them there, and when the human jungle begins to encroach, fight off the inevitable with those lost moments
.

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

‘companion’
for you are, always with me, this fantasy, based on once reality, so far away now in years, still has the hold of yesterday and the warming dawn of tomorrow, but no, a phantom memory, even if I know what you would say, would you? anymore, am I the same person as we once were, together, I can not be sure, doubt is rot, but too honest to dismiss, love seems like an anchor but also a map to where… some would say where I have been, can the road past point to a future path? I don’t know, I only know the fleeting hope, what whispers in, to my ear, in dreams, waking apparitions, delusions, perhaps, if there is a difference in such things, subtle kisses of, being awake, or asleep, or alive, how can I compare to anything on the other side until such time, as, well, but for now (and seemingly always) you are my companion, the strength of that thought, that feeling, wanes and rises, yes, like a proverbial tide, sometimes mild, sometimes an overwhelming wave that pushes me under, to the darker thoughts of why, but always the gentle recede, back into that vast dichotomy, the sheer beauty of infinity, to the eye, when locked on an ocean horizon, knowing the depths conceal my centuries of wrecks in demise, and yet, also a womb, a treasure chest, a portal, perhaps salvation, the constant presence of the power of perpetual motion, back and forth, forward and back, for we are, as hearts beat, brain waves pulse with electronic sensations carried to the power lines of our extremities, and the abstract, love and revile, just as real as a stone in hand just not tangible with the same senses, we have been programmed to trust, I could clamp all those valves of input off, and still feel, feel you there, my companion, even though, I lost you so long ago, eyes closed, my arms remember, my hands recall, my heart does call, and sometimes I think you may hear me, somehow, for that was there, that bridge, that bond, that love, my companion, I will not perish as one.

this is/was a stream post, meaning I wrote it all in one gulp, one sitting, one flowing, just an idea let out of the barn, allowed to roam free until… well, until it ended of it’s own volition, or my pen, or keyboard or such… such is the way of this blog, am I totally free? maybe not, trying to get there though… to allow my expression to be a bronco, in a field, running, or not, just being…

Paradise Lost… thoughts.

Paradise Lost… thoughts.

statue angel cemetery
Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

sharpen the spires
so shall be done
as the angels fall in deluge
from the heavens won
may they land upon these reminders
of their mutiny of god

and then there are the born apples

the serpent’s tongue
coils up wrap my spine, constricting,
becoming the whisper master of my desires
and the plunderer of my dreams

and so mankind begins…