My paper is running short
I’ve got time for a short one:

Once upon a time way back when I was ten
I had a dream, what a wonderful life
But I couldn’t wait, I got older quick
Learned to drive and how to kiss girls
Then one came along and stole my heart
put me in love for the rest of my life
We did it all, the house, the kids, the dogs
took it all in, that’s what we did
the good, the bad, love, pain and family
Now here we are, all to ourselves
right where our parents left off
looking back then and seeing it all
took our chances, we did some things
our time is now; we try to keep going
**** I wish I was ten


9/19/25

5 letters I wrote.
5 pencils I broke.
5 letters forgotten.
My food is all rotten.
From spending my time staring.
At my pages that I’m tearing.
And I sit here and wonder: why are we alive?
To fulfill this doom where we no longer strive?
Or is it to ponder and question ourselves,
Where no one can help us and no one can delve,
Deep in our lives where we never had help.

And I’ve come here to ask this simple task.
Don’t leave us alone, in this helpless grey zone.
Where writers can’t write, and spirits can’t fight.
And people never forgive things that hurt them.
They spiral into mayhem
They cry out and scream, “How could you do this to us!”
“We’ve tried and we’ve tried, but we feel worthless!”
Then they cry and they cry and I pretend to sympathize.
Why is living so hard?
5 questions I asked, no answers I grasped.
I guess this is how I end.
Or maybe this is how I began.

This summer, I’ve thought a lot,
About how I’m in a liminal standstill.
The crossroads of life,
Childhood to the left, and adulthood to the right.
Which way do I go?
I don’t have a choice.
The only way to go,
Is forward toward the void.
I must go on,
Listening to the songs that spark my envisioning,
Imagination bleeds into reality.
I must accept,
That there’s never enough time,
But that’s okay.
I’ll water her flowers and try not to complain,
Because she means the world to me.
The singer and the lyricist,
Moved on from their precipice,
Perhaps I can do the same.
I’ll rise, like a daisy,
Even when the world is feeling hazy.
I’ll remember what the Wendigo told me,
And what I learned from Dracula’s kidnapping.
It’s humbling to find,
That I’m at the world’s whim as much as it’s at mine.
Just a change in my paradigm.
I’ll make sure I won’t be like Vain,
Or like Russel, used for his brain.
I’ll overcome my fear and drive,
And leave my other fears behind.
Acne won’t entrap me forever,
There’s always another summer,
Though the heatwaves might be a ******.
I’m all in,
Avoiding artificial interactions.
I’ll try to see what they see,
And overcome this anxiety.
Oh, what thoughts can be stirred from a monochromatic shade of grey,
But I’ll fight through the haze.
I’ve seen,
That the last summer of reprieve,
Is as much of an ending,
As it is a beginning.

this, and that,

what good and fine as can be,
may be limited by, in fact,
one bit of both of us acting

as reader one and writer one
assigned to frame a mindform

an aspirant's aim, a mortal hero,
no superior anything, Joe Blow,

Johnny Come Lately, and
Johnny Lunch Pail, and Big Bad John

as a mind user holds self evident
what another holds sacred and undeniable

peace has a rule, least said, soonest mended.

Suffer it to be so, now
fully fected per form re co known,
true rest, debt free, fret free, ready
recognize trust as post warring, after
war reasoning retired, generally,
in peace

knowing using time we share,
my side of the situation produces
peace past understanding we live as part

of something we are reactions to as parts
required to inspire our realization as a whole.

From our marveling minds, we may so wonder
as mankind ever has minds we may open wider
while we are resting, re estimating worths costs

what's it cost to think in English a Hebrew word
a foreign idea, to think in miyn kind classified we

not me, nor you, we ag re spond aghast, what if

this is finished but
for our final faith's polishing touch. A reader.

My dare to say, the way I lived, worked.
My bet if time were today, what I live in;
then we live in it together, rationally balanced

at this previously unthinkable point. Ready

to experience thought slowed to ink speed…

elipses signify, thought pauses to think, read
right to left or up and down or left to right,

front to front, face to face, mirroring mind,
relearn from famous heros, mirroring kind-ness

like me beings shown our premyelinated brain rind,
bring me guile, show me some unprejudged idle word

logical extender of thought you heard said, hermit

hero's… the hidden practically only quiet certainty,

Cartesian or Pascalian, pre trib rapture revelation,
addendum on the end of the narrative, eh,

curses, foiled again… Mighty Mouse, ah,
shoot gee ****, kids

you better eat your Wheaties, be like Bruce,

tangled in a time of thinkable self will power,
dedicated to a timeless sufferage practice
to perfect a performance costing more,

than any other person ever paid, right
at one single point piercing everything

perfectly.
Storywise. Told and retold, to you, your story,

who are you but my audience, or our audience,
as we think during instances of mistaken belief.

The function of the mind, in a verb, by leaving
today the same everywhere right now, belief

can release potential peace, right when lief
as well think of green green moss after rain,

if there be any good, think on that.
Prepose your mind's eye on that goodness,

noticed, mosses and lichens shout bright
reflecting back through our whole being
beauty at the sight, at the action seeing

as today,
where I am, on purpose,
proposing one pastence,
everything everywhere all at once,
now, then

thinkable, in a crazy unsortable
fluid in a bubble, bubble in a foam,

message sent, Peace on Earth.

The eye altering alters all
William Blake, The Mental Traveller

in this fall
it's the sky of the eye that's falling
in the aquarium of time
fish swim in the shape of our memory
my reflection dissolves in unfolded thoughts,
in the maze of forgotten hours
a mythical hope starves the multiplicity of dreams
light colludes with its absence but
it's mind time, the burning hours let go of self-deception
there are twists and turns in our soberness
love is the art of inside seeing
how the vulnerability of truth gets expelled
by the mouth of time

The only time
is now

No future yet

All past gone

A spot in
eternity

forever.

Eelco van der Waals