in the whispering wind the murmur of the stones
the dreaming holds my hand as i float in the river of time
fire is a memory, all that is is the airy mention of the world
deeper into mystery i go, imagining myself not to exist at all
what looks out these eyes no more than a metaformality
this hour may change the world and none would know
what i have done is a secret, especially to myself
Reflection
8:43pm friday, 20th november
I'm feeling poetic
Absinthe
Oh, the pains of normalacy.
The ups and downs,
the turmoils, the toils.
If only one could be
carelessly drunk forever.
Dancing with the fairies
and speaking with the artists of old.
Walking on cobblestone bricks
and flying through melancholic airs.
Drifting through time endlessly.
Stopping only to stare at
ones tracks.
Maybe that is what heaven
promises to those who wish?
Maybe?
Reflection