Semi-Daily Scribbles
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The feet need to be comfortable at all times. They carry great weight, but have no say in how they ought to be treated. If abused, a foot will walk out the door, making it difficult to ever take a stand again. How is one expected to kick around ideas if feet leave the team? One should not wait until she has stumbled upon hard times. Take a load off. Soak up the sun. Toe the line so arms and legs don't strike out on their own. -
Margaret was tired of running. At first, she ran headlong into adventure and romance. It was what she dreamed of, after all. But then the promised price was due to be paid. She didn't care what happened to some extended relation five generations to come. She'd be long gone, after having a life filled with everything she ever wanted. But the source of her wealth, the very life force she took for granted, came from somewhere. It came from someone hanging from a branch a long way up the family tree. Margaret began to understand why it is wrong to borrow against the future. Her just do it now, forget about the outcome approach to living meant she was responsible
for the death of a woman she would never know. So Margaret continued to run. Run from promises made and broken. Run from the power that gave her the world, and demanded her soul in return. Run toward an end to her failings so the line would remain unbroken. -
windswept dissonance
dragging you through the underbrush
you sang that chorus once and it
chimed at night as the tempo knocked me down
drown out the babble
bring on the shadow
tear down the bridge that brought me back around
can't be called a quest if you're tired of looking
you can't claim discovery if I've found you first
try to untangle what's laid out so neatly
those vague recollections will soon prove their worth
just another verse to you
unifying the discordant notes
swaying in time above us
testing the river's edge as the stones we step on
provide sound footing
a physical presence in the garden of light
it is this picture I've kept playing
with the volume turned up high
never wanting to forget what was left up to chance
three steps back will get you ahead
if the plan was to return
to the moment when our voices
drove out the dark -
Henry's obsession with the past was far from healthy. The past clouded his judgment and deadened his senses. He no longer recalled the taste of tea, or the cooing of the mourning dove. All was ripped out by the roots. Henry blamed himself for the family's troubles; he was the reason a mighty house fell. Henry was sick with shame, and started each day with the intense need to rewind time before it played itself out forever.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 