On an empty canvas
i slowly draw an outline of me
but I disappear within those lines
and the border are no longer
who I am

Transforming
ever changing
Free me if you have captured
a photo of me
Kept me in your memory
I am caged there
awaiting to be released

It's what we tend to do
Keep hostages of past selves
We don't see how it is now
The jigsaw which fitted yesterday
is missing pieces today.

to lie on the warm sand at twilight
ripples of fleeting light
across a calm sea.

Affixed to the Lee–Enfield,
this blade, this trigger point,
stricken by ambush,
enters the melee
along the false edge,
cuts to the core,
like sympathizers of
William of Orange.

There are no daggers
apart from war,
just an ocean of
death and defeat,
its water,
its ever rising water,
swallows us whole.

Fresh in the winds,
They are the eyes of the skies.
Look at the signs,
They have narratives to devise.
Candour in their guise,
Across the obvious divide.
Matters of valour, revised.
In the hindsight, there linger problems.
For the network, it is without the borders,
An influence, a spectacle, the scrollers.
Make the best of the data hoarders.
Grave advantage, grace in their claim.
Some signalling, reckoning,
We shaped what you find.
Supreme reach in the night,
It's the truth that flies.
So tomorrow, to see the revise,
You will deem this will lead to paradise.
But needless to say, no solace,
For who fragments peace on Earth.