The story I will be telling you is among the numerous fabrications of the human mind. It is of such absolute preposterous origins that sane men and women like yourselves and I could not hold with such nonsense. Indeed we would not! We have progressed and could well establish that fine line between reality and fiction; we do not believe in the claims of the dreamers and stargazers.
The explosion of an ancient rock
gives the birth to a whole new world.
A fleeting motion of a distant star, as it swirls in vacant space,
sprints along kingdoms in their rise and fall.
The little tilting of a sun unknown, bringing the death of a planet wide,
delivers the earth from collision course with the flocks of light.
I’ve always been afraid of the dark. I can almost remember: born into a flood of light, kindling sparks where smoke once began.
To go back to the dark is to never exist in the fray against the pulse in time.
Upon the peak of Mountain Star he lived. His back was bent of old age and habit, for he had spend nights and days that eventually turned into a lifetime of labour meticulously searching through sands of the world, to find that occasional grain, that one dust in the wastes that he would keep, carry all the way to his home, nurture, love and then release.
The time for my favourite clichés about new dawns and chapters has come, and the time for rewinds along with it. My book journey this year has been one of thrill, tears and musing upon the experiences that I found in books. The following ten are the crème-de-la-crème; they are the books that I will carry with me whether for thee excitement they gave me, the emotions they imposed upon me, or the insight they provided. Continue reading
Within this cascade of light and dust,
a death of proportion divine
beams a path of a birth malign.
Choirs and sunsets:
Reasons for life to flow.
But like every note,
and every colour,
each second seems to drain
existence behind some far horizon.