There,s  a  chill  in  the  air.
I  just  felt  it  out  there.
Autumn  introducing  Itself.
The  sun  came  out
for  a  fleeting  moment.
Then  it  turned
suddenly  chilly  again.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

I'm locked in a cage.
Half my body spilling out through the bars;
Arms bent, snapped bones piercing through skin,
Stretched out, reaching for the key that gets further away.
Other half still held captive, hidden in the darkness
Of the secret that never wants to be paroled.
I want to escape, but the jagged limbs have formed a knot
And I can neither be pulled out through the gaps of the bars,
Nor back into the depths of repression.
I'm half free and half trapped,
And those two states of being cancel each other out.
I am nothing.

Touching every ethereal speck, their vision was unwavering
Eyes piercing through imaginary chambers of the brain
Past a feathery dreamscape
Into an explosion of unwavering reality

There's a yearning in my soul. A sudden dramatic anticipation. To connect, to reflect, to know your joys and woes. Your sorrows and your hopes.
Even for a day..
A minute..
A moment..
A memory to behold!
I don't expect forever, truly forever is untold, but life has unexpectedly introduced our weary souls. Bestow to me your story. I promise I'm no judge. I am too a victim seeking nothing more than love. A piece of me I'll give you. I'll surly accept yours. To feel in life is purpose, to neglect that is absurd.  Let your heart be open, let it carry you away. The pain you've too long squandered, let's relinquish it today.

I withheld my solitude
for I did not wish to seem so easily
lost among the darkness
and the vastness of eternity

There are billions all around me
of every simple thing
stars, humans, blades of grass
but only one of me

I let myself get lonely
I let myself get lost
In the mind of one who thinks deliberately
I'm in my own palace

In human years the world seems to move by slowly, but in truth mortal lights flicker and fade out. In one moment we are here then in another we are gone, while the earth moves on without us. To hold a belief that we can make a permanent change to the environment is an illusion. We may pull up dirt and rearrange a few stones, but in the end our attempts at change will fade. Just a mighty kingdom and it's treasure will be split when it's king is gone, so is the way of humanity. The best we can hope for is to make a positive difference in our limited sphere of influence, for the world upon which we live will only abide so much change before nature corrects the imbalance, so let what ever change we make, be for good and not ill.

my ego so easily constructs
     a fantasy
in which you, my favorite reader,
       t
           r
       i
           p
over my words and fall into
a wonderland
     with me

a single small s  p  a  c  e
between the blackness of
     these letters
and you fall into my fantasy
where we relish in
     our fetters

we forget to climb back out
as the passion starts
     to mount

we lose our minds with pleasure
hands and mouths
     d      i
           s      c
                 o      v
                       e     r
                             hidden treasure

the words that you pour out
my own that you soak up
leave us beggingpleadingscreaming
till our keyboards
light back up

A flight of three crows
added to
a dense grey day

Next add four
iconic conifers
as high as the sky
eternally ******* down

These things are
always in my sight
through my window
on this wet world

Multiply all of this
by a sweet daughter
who makes me proud
and raise the whole
to the power of a strong woman
who carries us all
on her back

The equation produces
a result that I am 95 percent certain
equals happiness
though the confidence interval
is wide

And this result
sweet as it is
and as uncertain as it is
will outlive me
leave a faint echo in time
an echo that will bounce off a star
and finally be found
gripped in my shriveled paw
long after the epiphany
nowhere near paradise
somewhere short of
the end of the line

This is a moment of happiness
stolen from time
hijacked by a fugitive
from civil society

I'll hold it close
until death pries it
without mercy
from my hand

Leaves it as a blessing
and a curse
for all who come after

Take the blessing.
Leave the curse.
That's the advice I give
with my dying breath.
And I leave this to you
from the generosity
of my heart.
With a nod to
the scant traces
of God's grace
that I find on these pathways
of travail.

Never lost.
Never found.
Always present
and generous
to all.

Be that.