Ancient dwelling places, forgotten pathways and neglected graveyards fill me to the brim with an enthusiasm for the mundane. As the fabric of life thins the voices of the celebrated AND the unknown whisper their legacy in the stoney structures which remain.
‘Oh, the wizardry of history. All the people who have lived and died, the people whose stories have survived.’ - Isaac du Toit, Passionately Curious
I wake up tired of the sounds and sights and feelings of me And being is a chore and believing is weak In the face of my hate for the reflection I see Not a single thing with which to agree And that's fine And this is sad And I hurt Quietly But I scream behind this screen With letters filled with grief At least the writings good Or so I'd like to think A lie that I could take something so horrid And give it a pretty face Could just be **** I'll sink with this ship I'll learn my place Quietly So I hope the water is warm when it fills my lungs And I hope I don't bother when I finally succumb I'll do my best to leave how I lived So don't break the streak of absentmindedness While I cease to exist Quietly