Time from this moment comes from what is

It is what

what is

nothing more than belief, a construct of sense

with escape some think

or

acceptance

but assurance as it is.

et tu old Brutis, as bawld worl entwines

net so maks tis this

man

woman

kind

muse la muskc

inside

oot

clok works on han.

Among the fancies and follies there exists

distractions.

Political ambitions and advocations

with some fomenting abominations

so to go around in circles the results desired:] Grand ambitions!

Hark and behold world, your world falters and you can’t even see it

feel

or try…

Yours is the season of technology to replace reason and rhyme

mine is of experience

Yours it the completion of feelings

mine has already arrived

Hand on the mane riding naked through a galaxy

Stars blurry and unworthy of guiding

following the vibrations

and yes

with a sigh

understanding…

“Grow up,” said by so many mature individuals

“When will you grow up? When will you be a man/woman?” said by others

My question in rebuttal is, why?

Have you seen what adults do?

Have you felt the results of the decisions they render?

Look at the laws of the land

You used to be hung by the neck for stealing a horse

and now,

you have to wear helmets while riding a horse.

Children live in a world of dreams and fantasy

this is my world, a world of wonder, excitement, and yes

joy

So, never grow up

>>>learn to know<<<

yet refrain from sticking your tongue to a frozen flagpole

or try to change the minds of those who embrace

old.

Lin tok to to tok to lin

(and then)

( from this (.)…………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

………………………………………………………………………………………………….(.)

In between and following somewhat, the lines; existence of pictures and colors. Can you see them? i do and they ‘bend’ the screen, the computer, the window, and especially, the line.

There is no drug or substance. No mental illness. No injury to mind.

Actually, the only thing holding me here is definitely not of this world other than

a job to be done, situations to guide, and to a greater degree

the food… So much and so many.

Peanut butter

Bacon

Pizza

Spices

Pasta

Soup

Bread

Fruit

(.)…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………(.)

and still the dance of infinity shows while giving peace to my mind.

The following is inspired and dedicated to the recent flavor-of-the month poster child, Greta Thunberg and any of like mind…

***

Climate of hospitality, or so it seemed

Farmers tilled the soil to feed their families, fishermen dragged their nets in oceans to feed their countries, people lived and survived… until, they came.

Hypocrites and power hungry souls demanding saying, “Save. Save. Save!” which translated into reality actually sounds like, “Me. Me. Me!”

There is patience in the eyes of God, and love. That is for God… not for other creatures, creatures, entities, species… those around so much longer, and so much so much… it seems… strange.

How will it all play out?

This battle between power-hungry  fools?

Will God let them ‘win’?

Will creatures of bizarre forms succeed?

i really could not care less as it is an exercise in futility as always, always in every way

the Flames always win…

leaving a world then

to freeze.

Rolling across the frosted blue

a small orb of bright

Sunlight chasing crystal kisses

leaving shadows to try

to run and hid

For all the sparkle and bright

there in the audience such sensations of cold teasing warmth

with the fresh smell all around

of being alive.

words come and go, as if a revolving door

each pass showing a variation

a piece

of another

this sun above, crawling slowly across the sky seems as if it was the same as yesterday

or tomorrow

but it’s not, it is not the same and can never or will be

as strangely

it reveals past travels

back to the day

it never existed

and was soon to be

born.

What games they play, those wisps of reality

One here one there and everywhere, they exist

Fierce warriors or bleating idiots

one thing never changes…

The direction of the Sun rising and setting.

Hello computer. Another day, more pay, more light, more gray.

The best thing today was Sobo. That dog could brighten a black cave.

Thought about fishing, West Virginia, and of course, work.

Work, work, work…

Writing truly is therapy. I wonder, what would Sobo write if corgi’s could write?

***

(written by Sobo)

Woof (Hi)

Woof woof (feed me!)

Woof woof woooof (feed me and feel happy!)

(lick)

(Sobo knows she can’t read or write, but with a simple lick speaks and writes volumes on the soul of such as me)