Love is a labyrinth
in which we all become lost.
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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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▼
2017
(526)
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▼
January
(43)
- Waiting
- Ascension
- The Strangeness of Dreams
- Quote Me
- Kiss You
- Her Heart Sings of Revolution.
- A Morning's Worth of Thoughts
- The Axis of this World Turns Towards Uncertainty.
- I'm Talking to You
- The Great Restlessness
- Journey Home
- We Are The Architects Of Our Desires.
- Wind and Springs
- Fools and Innocents
- Ribcage Cracked and Spread
- Fuck Him
- Midnight in a City Without Light
- Edge of the Heavens
- The Secret Language of Words.
- A Feast for No Guests ( Freewrite )
- Failure is always possible but so is success.
- Dearest
- Advice for You
- As human beings one of our great abilities is to c...
- Premonition
- If one cannot sleep one must wake. If one wakes on...
- On Tears
- Learn to
- Slave to one thing or another.
- the unease of this world is a mirror to the tenuou...
- tied
- Fear is a Thing that is Hunting Me.
- Mother
- Accidentals
- Words become action become truth become history
- In truth and circumstance Find yourself in the re...
- Be the love you seek.
- For the Searchers
- Love is a labyrinth in which we all become lost.
- If the wind is my Father and The ocean is my Moth...
- Crossing the Desert
- Between Nowhere and Here
- Who Will Replace the Old Gods?
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▼
January
(43)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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