The soft crackle of sand pail under moonlight, lapped up by an ocean's returning tongue, time and again. Waves hello.
Look above. You will see fireflies in plain view yet static and beyond the the reach of hand, then I remember the promenade clearly where yours once found gaps in mine. Ambling parallel to the shore, with a grip the sea could not part, but the word 'forever' could not anchor. Waves goodbye.
Sometimes I'm awake, thinking about all the thinking that holds me from sleep, and I lie there and ponder why i'm lying there asunder just a little too tired to weep.
Sunlight probes my eyes come the morning, a Monday calls my limbs to move but i'm dead weight not shifting though the sand of time is sifting but i'm playing dead, lying aloof.
He who can balance the words 'power' and 'limitations' in his hands; understands soundly the definition of responsibility and it's burden upon his shoulders.
To rule the world justly is to bare the labours of Atlas.
Where did the last leaves go? when the winter crept; weren't they blanketed by the snow or were they feasted upon by frost? Either way I've lost track of them.
If I turn over a new leaf, am I neglecting the ground work i laid the past ones out on? Would I be dishonouring those that have fallen? will everything up to this point now lose its relevance, because time permits its time to drop old blueprints for fresh leaves?
What if i'm not ready? What if I still value the progression of the elder ones? What if despite seeing those old designs bleed amber and red I can still see green?
Times, seasons and things may change but even from the beginning of a calendar year; What is old can be new again, Those old leaves becoming new ones, every time I remember to grow my ambitions with the ideas ingrained and well rooted within old desires. Those are I hope; the last new leaves I'll ever have to turn.
Ol' Mr Rilash the authority on panache and once chef of Ben-Ash, had neglected to trim his tash. It itched and made him scratch; Unhappy on upper lip. A plan, a plan it hatched.
...then one time in the kitchen on a snoozing Mr Rilash. His tash did something brazen, or silly or quite brash. It pulled away and dashed crawling through plates of mash and hopping over paprikash it made it to the window ledge via the crockery left stashed.
Was it brave or was it rash, the escaping captive tash. Leaping and waiting for the splash, It saw it's trajectory down below; and landed squarely in the trash.
Stepping with strides that will soon fade like passing tumbleweeds and trains long passed, is the person unknown who travels yonder their familiar blanket of sky. Searching for what you'd assume are answers to unresolved questions, they find confidence in treading uncertain new grounds; gaining reasons to love and love stronger. Ever the rolling stone shuffling to avoid a life that goes south, so that an end is met with fulfilment when body and soul head upwards and north, long after the telling of the last adventure.
I, the person you have yet to meet. Who roams for to settle one day in richer surroundings; knows such innate yearnings of the heart and mind that others have not the ties to satisfy.
These are moments monuments were made for; The times you love me like your last breath and hold me like your last hope. These are moments I'd mirror for you forever and always.