The words don't need
your help.
They can speak
for themselves.
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
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2016
(372)
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February
(31)
- Beauty reduced to base desire Is no basis for las...
- Did we ever belong to one another? What a silly ...
- There is no reason to dream when I saw you standi...
- Hours spent alone in the silence of myself I hea...
- Cut out my soul to make room in me
- Oh, Sea of Longing You must be crossed For hope t...
- The eternal lives of ghosts
- Carve out the boredom from my heart Turn this ine...
- wood turning to stone silent petrification eterna...
- Erasure Piece #1 2/28/16
- In Solidarity
- Painted Moon
- Unwinding the Thread from the Spool
- transpose
- The words don't need your help. They can speak...
- "Help me. Everything is falling apart."
- Moral Truth
- A Call to Action
- We can't predict the strength of the waves but we...
- Tie Your Dreams To The Passing Wind
- Memory is a Reincarnation of the Past
- Words of the Inevitable
- Love is a common impossibility.
- The Impossibilities of Love
- Can There Still Be Miracles In A World Without Gho...
- Bitter Angels
- As Quickly As An Angel Falls
- I watch the world from the windows in my attic
- Strange Dogs
- You can't be a fool if you've never been foolish.
- The Fields of Heaven
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February
(31)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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