Taking off on a transient rhythm, feeling it’s reverberations going through my mind, touching images of intense visions, filling my eyes and heart with all sorts of ideas.

of diligent neglect.Turning around, seeing nothing familiar in a familiar sight,destinations driven from within, pushing, prodding interiorwalls to expand and break.Rolling down exigent lanes of sadness, falling upon a fieldof vast misfortune, noting that succulent life has disappear-ed from the inside out.Limply grasping the single thread of survival, not reallycaring if it breaks and throws…

be room for newly created poetry.Clutter would restrict freedom of movement, ideas,images, creativeness, it would hinder the creativeprocess and cause mental or writer’s block.A clean continuous slate and screen invites memoriesto expand into visions of poetry, able to betranslated into rhythmical words and flowing meanings, carrying on the tradition of literacy throughout theworld.

Fallacies abound, triggered by meanderingthoughts of absolute silliness.Nothing, not even a moment, can be tornfrom calendars of solace when we continueto use our abilities to make our universea final picture puzzle of immense beauty anddesire.

Strung tightly, decorating thought, pulling it back out ofpaths of sorrow, leaving no memories for tomorrow.Wallowing through anticipated greetings, cut short by history’s beginning.Cold, shivering, lying on slabs of marble, being prepared forpicture-taking death.Little, unremembered abilities, lost long ago, tossed againstpillars of stone, run over and over, never dying, just beinghidden under everything else in…

Standing on their own, contributing positive memories towards a lifetime coming in the future.