Things Poetic

growth scattered light, pin pricks in the sky, reflections off raindrops, mirror balls of the trees refreshing and  then life returns what was dead, dry,  is now green growing out of its slumber towards the light  scattering

 September Sapphire month,  something true making life sing surfing to shore Confusion, pain keeps my soul active flatlining , dull, dreary shimmering blue, slowly floating waves, rainbows, drifting mist enwrapped in warmth

 Living...dying just a breath, separating them look left, live look right, death walk expectantly, clockwork movements repeat themselves when does life become...non life is there a switch when Gaia turns it off cells stop their replication, ATP stops being broken down, the spark stops,  is extinguished which step is the last ?

 Consequential loss Loss...what is it could it be Losing ones soul support or Life  often is  seriously sick waking again, peering out, close the curtain                                                             not today, my brain says                                                                       not now, my soul screams                      fuck this world loss never ends missing something that will never be filled, replaced, understood loss

 Florence Calls Train taking the weight across the space between here and Florence,  clickers clack, would have been the sound once, now its a swish, as the speed drags the excited faces from the built up city, across the green rolling hills (well, brown currently) through the hole in the earth pointed towards Paris sunlight flashes into the eyes, and the speed increases towards, once stopping, a quick rush to the eastern side and the next tav journey starts, via Germany to Florence art, culture food, wine autumn joy alone, and not lonely

 Confounded Sports on the screen in the room, moving faces, bodies sounds of bodies smashing others, referees whistling sharply,  bruised and broken bodies lift themselves up from the ground groans, deep gasps of breath My eyes try to focus on the screen, how many ? Im not sure the empties line the floor by the bin slowly stand,  by the stumble and weave its about 6 empties o'clock water time ?   Maybe one more for the road what road is there ahead, as Im already home sit down again wake up in the early morning, the bottle balanced in my hand, unspilled groan, confused I wander unsteady to bed out like a light to wake in a blur int he morning and start it all again