The present is a bubble. The past is a wall. The future is as intangible as a dream. Where does that time leave us, like stranded on a desert isle, lone palm tree and all.
All we have are the voices journalism brings to us, they speak loud and clear. I'm starting to believe in karma, but karma like god takes its time, what comes around, goes back around.
The left is always looking for the good inside the bad, like gutting the worm out of the apple to make the apple edible to the modern palate.
The world was the place to live but now the world is merely the place where god set us down while he went somewhere else to play and we have to escape with haste, otherwise either the climate or the politicians, are going to kill us all.
Which would you rather have? Storm or shells, not the ones by the sea. Or
The earth riding universal star streams, like fallen celebrities of stardust fame, tampering with reality tinkering,
Galaxies, wave upon wave,
We cannot find the truths which aligned the stars to our delight,
Nor the moons crusty shell, reflector of our light,
The sirens blare, the sea arises,
Fancy, white crested plumes smash against the cliffsides might.
down by the seashore, we must go,
To the rowboats, to the rowboats we must sail,
we must abandon our mother earth,
Like she is the titanic's maiden voyage.
And the iceberg has prevailed.
If you do not go down to the rowboats,
to the rowboats we must go,
The sea will come for you.
Teeth wide sharp to embrace you.
Like a prayer it asks for nothing
But everything is its way.
we will all become seafarers, noah will be our hero,
Capt Ishmael at your service, mam,
The whale's mouth, welcome to our sepulcher,
The whales back, ropes upon, strapped,
We ride the plunged spear, yet freedom is our prisoner.
Our gods have failed us, our way of life a stalemate.
A meandering path, leading back to the sea,
Crawling with hunger and as patient as a fisher
As it skims across the waves froth.
