A flutter of white against stained-oak desk
laying in wait, it anticipates
the first mark on blank surface
dots, loops, lines, inscribed representations
to illustrate unseen curiosities
to anchor their essence into the visible
for you and I to perceive.

looking ahead towards the end is intoxicating
knowing that you are able to conquer obstacles previously out of reach
hurdles, that before, were not obtainable
what changed so that victory existed on your journey
your ideas of what could be done, can be done
your view of the end changed....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 170

monuments to light and sound
that glimmer off a thorny crown
and show us what

everything at
once I was, there was, we were, they had
thoughts and dreams that lit up
leaves of dappled light and what we thought they'd find
under our pillows after losing our teeth

the night creeps
the night creaks
but i'm asleep

The song on loop
and yawn's a constant companion.
The bed invitingly soft and
the worn out cozy blanket.
A half finished cup of Joe
now gone cold
Picking it up not an option
for my lazy limbs,
Sleepish eyes carrying
Stone heavy eyelids
A caffeinated brain
Intoxicated with futuristic ideas'
Streams of probability
And possibilities
Running with Infinite paradoxes
The two eternal repellents'
Bookand iphone
Depicting angel and satan
One on each shoulders
Playing cold wars like
****** and Englishmen
With the hour of devil on clock
And Jesus on the lips
I slid into the eternity
Of pleasant thoughts
Of how to spend the next day
of my life.

I keep a notebook,
For when I have ideas,
Someday I’ll write them.

I'm dying with these words,
When the world closes its doors.
Trying to find the life inside
to give and share,
to live a life.

Oh kindle life, give me hype.
To be productive as I ever was
The poet inside of me
has been dying as it ever has.

It comes and goes
Like as water flows.
It might be dry,
It might overflow.

Inspiration...
dying
while
also
craving
inside.