Timeless Birth

The waves of eternity crash against the rocky coast of forever. The rays of love and acceptance are setting, but still wash a warmth over all. Soon it will be replaced with the blue moon of peace and serenity.

A never ending cycle in bliss.

A soft whisper caresses the consciousness. “This is the point between two places. It is here you must decide to stay or go. To leave the peace and love of forever and go back into the turmoil of life.”

The whisper points attention to the obelisk defaced by a single black door.

The door inspires horror and fear.

The whisper no more uttered the sentence then the air around is felt, still questions swirl. Thoughts dip in and out. The potential to live again hums like a long forgotten desire.

Consciousness has come this far, it could travel no farther until answering yes or no. Here and now a decision was possible. In the timeless void counting second and minutes, days and years was meaningless.

Life was what once was. Maybe an empty candy wrapper is an apt description. A wrapper that has been licked clean. Once was. A memory gone, but for which the longing for has never disappeared.

At the start this was fine. A void in which to play. To make sandcastles on a beach that the surf never washed away, but eventually the remnants of chocolate disappeared from the wrapper and nothing could replace what the tongue craved and now Consciousness is here facing the pain of birth, of life, of wound and disappointment, all so that he can fill a need to feel the more again.

He answers yes.

His next thought is pain.

His eyes sting under bright light and his lungs burn, stuck painfully closed. Sticky gloves abrade his soft skin. His mouth opens to scream and can’t. He yearns to breath. To live. A concussive blow to his back. Nothing. Another and he sucks greedily at the cold air and sends the breath back out in a terrified scream. He is swaddled in warm blankets and laid under the softest most loving set of eyes he has ever known and all else about his existence is forgotten and time begins to tick once again.




Photo courtesy of :

Sue Vincent’s  #writephoto



His feet hurt

He needs new boots

He has been putting it off for months

Maybe years.

Though every day is the same

His feet hurt worse and worse

Maybe tomorrow

He decides

Maybe next week


City of Thought

“What is it?” asks the boy. He has asked many questions.

“It is the city that houses the intellect of the Universe,” says the old man who holds his hand. He is patient and kind and has been answering the boy’s every query since their journey began many moments ago.

Time is an illusion. They have eternity. Curiosity is a good thing.

“The whole universe.”

“Well,’ the old man begins wondering how much he should say. ‘This one anyway.”

“There are more?”


“Are we going there?”

“If you want.”

The boy scrunchies his face in thought. The old man loves him a bit more watching him decide whether he wants to visit the great city.

“What’s in there?”

“A theatre that plays every single dream every dreamt. A library of every thought ever had. A gallery of every image captured by all eyes throughout time. Concerts of forgotten conversations between the greatest people ever born. The history of everything written out in long form with no doubts.”

“Would I like it?”

The old man thinks on this moment, before answering,”Not yet. You would enjoy the city you built during your lifetime better. It would be more familiar.”

“When do we get there.”

“soon. We have much to discuss while we travel. Shall we fly?”

‘Yes please.”

And the old man allows the boy his knee and holds his hand is he climbs up onto his back. Once the child is seated comfortable he spreads his great grey wings and with three heavy flaps and a leap they are airborne again soaring through the golden air.



waterfall city

by: artbytheo

avoiding the draft

The best way to avoid the draft

Is to a be a coward

And hide from duty

And obligation

While the rest

Of your generation

Catches bullets

And wastes

Their youth

For fat old men

In Washington

Who wage war

Against other fat



In places

That feel far away

This is the way

You avoid the pain

And sacrifice

Of military obligation

By slinking

Through the shadows

Looking for excuses

To keep

You from battle

Building lies

Building a life

Unworthy of respect

You shun

Your brothers

And sisters

Willing to take

Your place

You shun life

And meeting

The challenge

Of being part of

Something greater

Then yourself

You value

Your selfish existence

You hoard your days

Many go the route

Of getting an education

Until they run out of degrees

And then seek public service

And suck on the tit of society

That spends other people’s

Lives like currency


You look at it

To avoid the draft

You run

And look

For cracks

To crawl


Like a cockroach


Of the light

Don’t look back

Dont regret

Because death

And combat

Are nightmares

You’d rather not face

All the while ignoring

The irony that everyday

You get closer

And closer

To your final moment

A moment nothing

Will keep away

Not avoiding a draft

Not boatloads of chemo

Not surgery

Or even denial

We all are forever faced

With the ether of death

No matter what

Death comes for us all

Drafted and

Undrafted alike


A Moment

“Stan, where do I put the stamp on this email I want to send? Stan? Oh God, no! Stan!”


“Thank Goodness, I thought you were dead.”

“Sadly not yet.”

Squinty Eyes

The one thing

I can say that has changed

Since the day long ago

On which my innocence was lost

Is that my eyes no longer squint close when I smile or laugh

I don’t know when this quirk disappeared

I only just realized

The girls

The ones

I want

Have stopped

Commenting on it


I don’t know


Can’t help


What else



A Delusion

You know how things go. You see the way people think. You feel their feelings. You can use this innate ability deep within your soul to see everything, the future, the past, intentions, emotions.

You know all answers.

You decide there is only one reason all this is possible.

You must be God.

You walk into the street.

You see the car coming.

You feel the shock of the driver. For a moment you become the driver.

You feel both impacts, your’s as the two tons of Detroit steel runs you over and his, the man behind the wheel as he drives into your one-hundred and sixty pound frame, denting his bumper and ruining his day.

Good news though, you are not God, just a crazy person who was desperately in need of psychiatric care, the bad news is none of that matters anymore, because you are dead.