that no longer exists
yet I carry it
with me
A pond filled with life
Trees as regal as any royalty
What is it I have taken
that I now hold?
Even then
I could never grasp it
in my fists
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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
-
▼
2022
(201)
-
▼
July
(24)
- Breach
- The Fool
- Eternal You
- The Poetics of Savagery
- Put it down and Pick it up
- Be Your Own Master
- Her Cabin
- Enfold
- The Whip
- Without A Trace
- The Mirror Becomes The Door
- Old Crow / Well Whiskey
- Raymond
- The Sacrifice
- The Orphan
- Prophet
- Open Hand
- Surrender the Chrysalis
- Holding Open
- One Day of Struggle
- The Beach in the Forest
- Approaching Natural Rhythm
- Scarification
- Summer Rain
-
▼
July
(24)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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