-blue moon and crimson tides, i sit on this bank of dirt and try to make sense of things. like the waves that beat upon the shore, this journey, my lifetimes, have carried on incessantly and tirelessly, winding their way to what i am today. it all seems so strange when you consider the happiness ya behold inside yerself. good and bad, quite clear. rather not to push the moment so as to force desired situations but more like the revolutions of a song on the record table. i listen to the sounds of the wind beat the waves on the shore and gaze at that blue moon of soul and try not so much to think on the losses i’ve suffered but t’ try and ride out these moonbeams which have taken me thus far. i am compelled to carry on my writing, to continue my journey.
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I am arming myself for the storms ahead. With a naked light bulb and some juice in my soul, I watch as cities crumble and ghost towns emerge. There’s no need to comment on London, Miami, or any other town. It’s what we’re gonna do with our revolutions that matter. To me, that’s a scary question too. For one who has spent the better part of his life building walls to keep the days out and the moments in, it’s difficult to admit the realization that we’re all in this together, that our journey is one, our words are important.
***
So now, I must tear down these walls and throw out some lines. Who am I to say I can’t find a rhyme in this scheme. Belief in humanity starts with belief in yerself and I guess it’s up to us to build those cities again. Being part of this writing journey is timeless…for all writers everywhere and for my deepest thoughts brought to the table.
Did you enjoy the post above? How about a link to other relevant posts?
Bed of Dreams ; Beating Heart ; Stillness
