Beneath the rotted floorboards, time pulses,  
an arterial thrum of root-veined clocks.  
They do not tick for kings, nor bow for breath,  
but coil their echoes deep into the loam,  
dragging splinters of once-wooded oaths  
into the mouths of worms.  

What is time here, but the taste of damp?  
But the drag of green shadows across unblinking stones?  
A language older than lungs,  
a song of split seeds whispering their secrets  
to the weight of a thousand buried steps.  

Above, the weightless still mvoe,  
mistaking hours for thresholds,  
grinding moments into calendars  
as if order were a thing the earth might honor.  
Their laughter carries, thin as copper wire,  
breaking against the stone’s unhurried shrug.  

Here is the truth:  
roots keep the time,  
counting each second by the shade of moss,  
each century by the rise of the hawthorn's spine.  
And we are nothing to it,  
fleeting as the rain on uncarved stone,  
as brittle as the leaves  
crushed under their own arrival.  

I laid my ear to the ground once,  
and the earth opened a crack of sound—  
not a scream, but a swallow,  
a voice neither cruel nor kind.  
It told me this:  

"Do not fret your passing.  
Even your dust will kneel  
and grow itself into shadows.  
The clock of roots will claim you too,  
a heartbeat winding down  
to something soft and green."

Years’ worth in our days swirl in our thoughts of lovely hands clasped in ours with no resolve of ever letting go.

Though the fates and sanguine melancholy conspire to break the bonds nothing can keep this sight from being enthralled

shall he, happiness dancing waltz with the sea, ever forget?

The tempest-swept shore of unyielding grace remains true to the beacon, be it in the peaks or prairies; a promise,

no matter how trampled still blossoms without the acquiescence of seasons, be they winter or spring,

until the day a tombstone is offered and a coat rack for weariness to hang,

no smiles will eternally be wasted on a frown as is with fear will be on Pennywise the clown.

We are here, and we are now until we become yesterday, our hearts unbowed

And yet, long after light has left times eyes, and last fogging breath has been drawn,

the echoes resound, love, unyielding, seared into the skin of eternity.

Strands of flesh, a promise, binding lives that once strobed like starlight, the universe chants with shared joys, sorrows, and dreams.

For every stumble, every fracture, every tear that pelted our time, we rise, reforged in the fires of devotion’s heat.

Love is no fleeting gale but the tide that shapes continents, despite the world’s cruel dissonance, harmony prevails.

And when the final curtain falls on this fleeting stage, let it be known we did not merely survive but thrived, kindled.

Everything is  conscious
and a moment lasts forever .
☆
The sky is painted on
cardboard ,
stretched out by the hand
of God ,
while sawdust covered ground
moves on wheels to the Mouth of Infinity .
☆
I can't remember my lines ,
but speak them anyway ,
A manuscript that has written itself .
☆
Love , loneliness , ambition , pain ,
an **** of fireworks
on a dreamer's dark night .
☆
While overhead , machinery
of the celestial stage begins
to shift .

In the winter i'll come
I'll come to you in the winter -
                                            In the winter I'll come,
Like a flake, i'll fall in your palms,

In the winter i'll come,
Galloping on the white wind, in my hair, to hold you,
                                    With the horizon waving,

Don't go, don't go,
I will come, don't forget me,
I am lost among strangers,
                            I'll come, wait for me -
Like a tear, i'll drop from the sky
                    to kiss your warm cheeks,

Whisper to me again - eternity,
                                      I'll come, wait for me,
In the winter, i'll fall,
                    Like a flake, i will fall in your palms
I'll melt

In that golden hour
when memories fall
like photographs from
some upturned valise ,
☆
Covered in esoteric symbols
like the record of some
bizarre travelogue through
magic , time and space .
☆
Faces shimmer in the
cool night air .
Those ghostly lanterns
then disappear in a
mist ,
☆
While forty-two saints read their lives .
The Knave , a Sleeping Princess
and the King of Hearts ,
all gone now and
dust stops their mouths .
☆
But in another century
blazing with the fire of
a thousand suns ,
then giants walked the earth
and made all time their own .
☆
Though now , as I sit here
in this solitary room
marked by time's passage
and the romance of decay ,
☆
They seem to live still ,
more vibrant and bejewelled
than the phantoms of daylight
and their prisons of the mind .
☆
In dreams they speak to me
in foreign tongues
and in curious manner , like angels
they confound my understanding .
☆
In daytime they leave messages
and strange symbols ,
in numbers and
words that are not there .
☆
The Moon is shining bright .
Their voices sing in the wind .
Everything is just a story
and all of it is real .

Eternity shivered ,
trembling at heaven's
radiant golden portal .
☆
Countless crystalline
moments of time
dance , vibrate ecstatic .
☆
Physical objects ,
now less distinct ,
fade to grey simulation .
☆
Gloriously only a
shining path remains ,
Surrender, Devotion and
Pneuma .

Soft cool sensual shadows
play over the almost
silent stream ,
as languidly it ripples
over pebbles and mossy rock .
☆
Now and then , moonlight
catching little diamonds
of shimmering light
danced in our lover's eyes .
☆
The stately willow tree was
a cathedral of luscious green vine ,
swaying gently and communing
with the flying things of the night .
☆
On the bank near that whispering tree ,
we kneel together, not touching
both gazing into the
cool clear mirror of the
stream .
☆
Then , at once , we are on
an old wooden bridge .
Vast plains of vibrant sound
stretch beyond imagination
to Infinity .
☆
A gentle breeze moves brightly
coloured flags
over far off golden pavilions .
There is sunshine ,
but it is cool and sweet .
☆
You smile
as we float above the bridge ,
drifting in the magic scented
air .

On a sacred mount of olives
where they mirror each their hearts ,
In a meadow of wild flowers
where their love can never
part .
☆
The dreaming of the Logos
and spirits secure their way ,
While strange and mythic creatures
will frighten fear away .
☆
In pure light forever
their souls are intertwined ,
Magician and Priestess ,
there was no-one of their kind .

Sartori-Falcon and Hathor
eternally dreaming
in clear mountain air ,
employ Lotus Flower
and Key of Life
in service of the Pneuma .
☆
KA.       BA.       AKH.       RA.
All lives , translucent
films in space .
Like a waterfall
of magical numbers
and codes of the ancients .
☆
Then , initiation to the
realm of the senses ,
through a rich fabric
of symbols , sound and light .
☆
While souls of the
bright star children
cross the galaxies
to their new green home .
☆
Blending their true selves
with the energy of animal spirits ,
they dance cosmic
telluric currents and solar winds .