There is a place
not here or there
but somewhere.
Infinite fractals,
shattering in time.
Reflections,
In broken glass.
To blades of grass,
to grains of sand.
A finite countless,
infinity.
Categories
On the beach
where i stand
toes buried
deep in the sand
to each
their own
was worried
but no more.
Just a moment wavering in the air,
holding on before it unfurls.
Gently letting go with care,
as it whirls away in those blue ivory curls.
A hug, a caress, a touch…
of a second which seems so faint.
Yet to not have enough,
to uncouple the real and the feint.
All that is left here is echos,
all that is left here is echos.
A moment,
life flickers
like film
in a reel.
Rewound,
frame by
frame.
Today,
yesterday,
every day.
Happiness,
sadness,
every emotion
between.
Reel
runs out
cuts
to black.
Categories
High Beam Daydream
Go where the road untangles and unfurls
by those cliff side views over those blue curls
lit only by those high beams off those white pearls.
Only sense of direction is the road ahead
no going back just only forwards instead
as going prevents drifting to the sea bed.
The white sea foam crashes amongst the shore
those high beams persist only for Salvadore
the light bends around the corner then no more.
Months have come and went,
time left and spent.
Moments of eternity and bliss,
here now to witness.
A blink as blue skies,
turn grey in old eyes.
Bells have began their knell,
and leaves have all but fell.
Hold on,
cold song,
I long to live.
The lights flickered up and down the dim avenue,
every flicker reflecting off the puddles on the ground.
For a moment these are the only movements in view,
until a car under the veil of night comes round.
The car that comes to a stop is an old rugged Polara Pursuit,
the door swings open to let out an old gentleman in a black-as-tar suit.
He takes his dormant hands from his pockets to pull a cigar and a light,
takes a second to look around before taking the cigar to his lips and ignite.
The nicotine hits and the tar burns through his mouth and down his neck,
smoke fills the air as he patiently waits hoping he wasn’t given a rain check.
Embers burn off of the cigar into the night sky fading back to the stars,
the distant sound of the road echoes with the sound of passing cars.
The wind blows
where does it go
nobody can know.
The river’s flow
topples like dominoes
through the meadow.
Out the window
of the small chateau
grows
an old willow.
Categories
The Soloist
The soloist closes their eyes and leans in to play their instrument,
an intertwined movement as the musician and their tool becomes one.
An ever so subtle look of one who loves to that which is intimate,
knowing the bond that is formed now may never be undone.
The dance is bittersweet as the moment has already began to fade,
a beautiful sight with the undertones of a melancholic symphony.
Even though the house lights stayed a lit and the music swayed
the musician could see the end coming of this moment so vividly.
This temporary music spreads out into infinity,
where all is left is the memories.
Notes and undertones that almost approach divinity,
where all is left is the reveries.
The house lights went out, the musician left gasping for air.
Every delicate sensation overwhelmed but they didn’t care.
Images we carefully hang on the wall
hung carefully so it might not fall.