If I couldn't change I'd be dead already
Days and months stolen from us
A heist of the only thing of real value
History made
Decency laid waste
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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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2021
(82)
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January
(20)
- Boundless
- In this Moment
- Blessed Are The Stewards
- Nonsense
- Oceans
- Don't pretend It doesn't suit your eyesYou tell th...
- Endless Finite
- Make it obvious if you wishCloud it in black mists...
- A Turning of Seasons
- All the Angels in the Heavens
- I can hear the voices down the hall. They are comi...
- We are no better than who we were as a species sev...
- Godly
- The flowers are forgetting what you told them to r...
- Days of Ringing Bells
- If I couldn't change I'd be dead alreadyDays and ...
- Drowned
- If This Is Now Then So Are We
- Waiting for the momentIt never comesuntil it doesa...
- The First
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January
(20)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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