Our time here is lacking.
The gifts have all been given.

Withheld by men in long coats and deep hats.
The mysteries have yet to be explored.

We are what makes up this space in time.
History will be decided by actions set forth by men not Gods.

We are in the time of the deprived.
Our time will never know the gifts of Magic.

Truth in our age is but a story better told by Liars.
It's a mass hypnosis that very few can comprehend.

The way of things will one day come to an end .
We are living in the age of Deceit.

If by Halloween night things
have still yet to be.
I'll consider myself lucky
if there's no October surprise
for me.

There is no truth .

It's all a rich mans joke.

The distant surf
crashes against the old
Spanish wall.
Sounding like slow
volleys of gunfire
ricocheting off
the jagged cliffs
above.

The sea side stillness
of the night is
disturbed by
my footsteps.
They crunch a
million grains
of sand with
every step
I take along
this jaded
asphalt.

At this hour
all of this is
closed,they put
hours and gates
around
whats free.

Wet feral cats
chase giant
wharf rats all
through the
cavernous
crevasses
between the
break walls
giant stones.

Across the Harbor
on the calm side.
Lights shine bright
from the
giant cranes
and the
deep green
Span dressed in
strands of
Blue.

The lights
reflected off
the still water
and danced
along small wakes
left behind by
passing boats.

The fumes
of sweet
scented fuel
hides just
beneath the
smell of
salt water and
the rotting
bait fish left
behind by
hopeful
fisherman in
chunks along
the rocks.

A quarter mile
out on the breakwalls end
the Gateway to
the Angels sits
as still and proud
as an ancient Oak.

Its dependable
Lighthouse
vigilance and wisdom
washes over me
as I pass this
night counting
the seconds
between
the shine.

I watered
my thoughts
with moments.

Tiny moments.
Moments forever
trapped
within the
cloudy hollows
of my
experience.

What has
bloomed forth
became
all of this.
This of which
has blossomed
from
tiny moments.

Tiny,
like the feet
of the girls
named
Jade in China.

Tiny moments.
Moments
I thought
grand enough
to share with you.

The pencil lead snapped with a sharp cracking sound.


He continued with a new sense of urgency as he scratched his message across the page.



The black cat bumped its black head against his ankles then brushed its black body across his saggy socks.


He instinctively reached down and scratched the cat behind her black ears without looking.


With his grey stubbled chin he pointed toward the page,


"What about yogurt the frozen kind????".


My smile hid the fact that I wanted to cry, I wanted to hear his voice again, I wanted him to look healthy again, I wanted him to get better.


I said "Of course whatever you need."

He blinked his dark circled, shallow eyes and held them closed for a second to long before nodding his now bald head.


He grabbed another pencil, his hand flew across the page as he wrote.


" Don't worry about me You're gonna be fine."

He has to
drink his
meals,
so I drink
mine to.

I have to
drown his
cells in
nutrients.

I'm
trying
to
keep
someone
alive.