the missing glue Step right up to a conversation Something has to progress., sooner or later before the world runs out of patience , goes all separate ways Destination Nostalgic days when we remember vaguely so little of so much sights and sounds and touch
Intimacy the missing glue Budgies looking in the mirror See outsides clearer But others hold it to our selves Makes it harder to ignore we live only if we choose to Mostly we refuse to
Looking to exterior alteriors To enthuse We gain whilst we actually lose and then the blame is not for god or other's footsteps trod but ours and ours alone A dog with a bone but no one to play with waiting for the day this part becomes whole I dont want much - I just want it all someone to share it with another budgie perhaps x Scott
On a lighter note maybe I'll romance you in a boat with a scarf and some pretty pretty notes spin a web to draw you close and a poem floating on the frame they dance on to throw caution to the solitary winds and invite you in to somewhere real Be someones in a somewhere . . . . you know? --------------------------------------------- S.woodhouse 2016
- the anti heroe's freak flag .... Ulimately a success story for failures...... The EMPEROR in his new clothes unaware of his naked form on display .... as if,in a dream, about to make the "I have a dream" speech for the ages to the whole world, with a blank canvas his mind, no words to save him and a robe of denial shielding his fragile ego from the unrecoverable vulnerability to be revealed to all.... safe in this bubble he rambles about floating air filled spheres blown about on the breath of whispering gossips, always happy for others to take the fall under the intent gaze of those enjoying the luxury of looking out from within, in orbits around the centre of attention they happily are not ..... the irony in the multitudes gathered AND not one is ACTually present. So if a tall man falls from the dizzy heights of ego in a forest of gawking voyeurs swaying in the breeze does he really fall at all? I notice one man stands to the side of the rabble making his own observations upon mine - made to unravel of the very nature of it's mystery , and the philiosophical ramifications that might ensue clapping with one hand . You strain to hear its tune to answer a riddle of the ages unmatched by mind of man as yet but you are waking and its fading memory, dissolving with shards of light that merge to forget the shadow of night, a brilliant day bleaching the lessons to be learnt shiny clean. Pages and pages of nothing no pictures nor words upon this book the legacy of man..... Mother looks on the scene ..... un phased encouraged by the dependable and ever returning rays because she aint about to lose to some L O S E R least not today
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