All the burdens in my hands
And all the nightmares I have,
Defines Me.
trying to escape from what I've become
collecting the fragments
just for the pain I need to overcome.
Believe me, when I tell you this
I don't need this, Any of this!
but in this fake world,
can't grasp what's what?
then in the end, all I can feel
is the scars I have,
that you left to fill this void!
wish I had some magic potion,
or some kind of spell to cast upon you,
to stop all the grieving you feed upon.
You pride yourself with your ******* throne,
now its time,
Let me show you how its really done!

The old town..
Was it old?
Where am I?
I walk into what seems to be an old dance hall.
I try my luck on a game there and win big.
I then walk around the old town.
I still do not know where I am at.  
I think I am in the town of Memory.
Or at least fragments of memory.
Fragments of all the towns I have been to put together like a forgotten puzzle.  
Outside of town I find my sleeping self.
There by the river that runs to the oceans of my mind.
I need to wake myself up.
I look around before I do so.
I enjoy the created river and woods..
The detail is amazing.
This is the gift of painters.
And artist.
To create with thy hand what thy dreams present.
In order to wake myself up I simply have to fall asleep here..
I lay on my back in the sand by the river..
The sun speckles through the leaves in the trees creating a way back home..
I fall asleep and wake up..

Flavia swore as the heavy earthenware pitcher slipped from her hands and crashed onto the uneven flagstones. As she knelt in the puddle of tepid water and started gathering in the pieces, she heard the rapidly approaching footfall of an armed legionary.

‘Leave that now, there’s no time. We ride for York immediately.’
‘But mea domina...’
‘The Wall is breached. Hurry, puella, or she'll start without you!’

Flavia picked up her sodden skirts and ran.

                                                           ­  §

I held my breath as the last piece of the Corbridge ewer slid smoothly into place and wondered at the exquisitely crafted motif which encircled the body of this ancient vessel. A procession? A cavalcade? Curious, if not for the men-at-arms, I would have thought it a pageant. And there in a covered wagon a noble woman looking back at a young girl standing on the steps of a villa holding her hem in her hands.

If I told the stars what I know of you
They’d shine even brighter through the blue
And if I told the sea what you used to be
Then the tides would start dancing underneath the moon
So take me to the sunsets that never seemed to leave
The ones that would glitter on the surface of your view
If I told the wind what I remember of you
It would whistle in its glory and carry me back to you

Fragments, the stone remembers
The walls echo the tale
Moments, life in reflections
Memory tickles the brain

Jail, like death forever
Prisoner becomes the slave
Life, journey to surrender
End is the game