The Pursuit of Light

There’s something quite enchanting about darkness,

The mystical facets of childhood fairytales seem to tie endless lengths of string around breathless moments and pull them into a continuum of wondrous nostalgia. Those moments will never be the same—frozen, pulsing with resonant light. Perhaps it’s the lack of words which desperately yearn to escape from the confines of the speaker’s lips or the boundless concept of life pouring into the lower part of the hour glass, like the ever-evolving sands of time that causes a moment to stay perfectly imperfect. Maybe it isn’t.

Either way, as soon as something is spoken it dissipates into the air around it; it taints the energy it lives in.

When a moment is lived, it no longer exists and all that remains is the dance of vague moving images to inaudible, non existant music.

 

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Autumn Leaves

She sits upon the turbulent winds of time,

waiting to be carried to the astronomical heights of dead balls of gas.

In the meantime, her crumbling flesh must remain a ragdoll to the ever-changing storm.

Tranquil. Open and free from the ancient, decaying branches of the tree.

Silver Screen

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Silver Screen.”

“Time flies.” That’s what all the people  say.

It matters not where you plan on going or where you think you’ll stay,

it matters not where you were last week or where you’ll be next year,

it matters not where your demons hide or where you’ve shed your tears.

It matters not where you’ve planted your dreams or where you think you are.

All that matters are the hands you hold as you gaze up at the stars.

So as time recedes before your eyes like the ocean swallowing the shore,

take the time to gaze at thoughtless clouds, wending across the sky and just breathe…

An Epiphany of Time and Bright Lights

There’s something in the air this morning.

A kind of glittering hope that only lives among the bright, moving images and opaque air of New York City;

the slither of silver, on grey, rain-ridden clouds.

There’s something quite magical about the sound of moving life against the azure blue sky.

‘Tis a reminder of why one must believe in one’s illusions, despite the eb and flow of mundane life—even though life is anything but mundane.

There’s something in the air this morning and I’m not quite sure what it is.