Beginning of the End

“I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring 
dirty-irish
Translucent skin showing the paths of life that will cease to flow
Blue and gray replace the young countenance and own the deterioration
Halting the movements of grace, becoming a lame gait of an ambling fall
This is the prognostication of our demise and the fate’s without escape
What’s left when the seasons change and we’re left without shelter?
The things leave and nothing’s left but an empty mind
Where are the riches spent entertaining the needs of vanities clients
The evaporation leaving only the crumbling idols built by youth

New Rain

“I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.”
Written with the realization that when she left, he would never be the same again.
trashyybarbie

Drain my living essence with the leaving of you

Pulling my thoughts beneath muddy waters of left

Puddles of dreams gather before the melted man

Remains of the show shimmer in dazed light

He evaporates and the hope of new rain is born

 

The Hermit Chronicles: Cup of Conversation

“Not all those who wander are lost.”
Some things were better lost than found.”
annasasylum

Lost is good, that’s when I find places that appear on the horizon of experience, places that are exciting, painful, and perhaps enlightening. Being lost and alone sounds terrible, but these are exciting lands and through wandering I pass by many old and tattered road signs that point out toward a different way. Beyond addiction’s sign, I see the detritus of the many who travel here strewn about and the bones of those who scarcely made the turn on that road before they died choking on the false hope of that distant city. Violence, that sign bears holes shot through with blame and anger against foes seen and unseen, real and surreal. Down that path I hear echos of private wars, fought more often in that travelers head, then on the road itself. Fame, this sign is hard to see, covered with thick strands of luck and persistence. Looking far down that road I see no one, I only hear crowds gathering and yelling praises at the swollen headed partakers of that way. I love to pass by those exits and the many crisscrossing and circuitous forked roads called psychiatry and religion. Bah, I turn my back on these and wander through my solitary confinement. It’s there I’m comfortable and being lost gives me a reason to go back over my favorite parts. Don’t feel sorry for me as you see my shambled figure shuffling, my face overgrown with disconcerting opinion. I’m happy here, but wait, would you like to share a cup of conversation, speaking without words over my fire? I didn’t think so, you have your eyes set on the exit signs…you’ll be back though, I’ll keep a light on for you.
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Cup of Conversation
 Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Fallen Trees
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Aimless 
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Hounds  
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging 

Also published in Broowaha
Also published in Life As A Human
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