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| Friday, June 25, 2004 |
| Falsified Records |
| posted @ 00:39:00 MDT by bryn |
| Insight Is nothing Without action It is useless Much like this is And like all is Passion Is worthless Without embrace Simply is lifeless And is hopeless Forming anger Nothing Is promised Without peril And a tomorrow Which will come soon And lie to you Again |
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| Saturday, June 12, 2004 |
| Found and Lost in a Sunset |
| posted @ 02:56:00 MDT by bryn |
| Simple momentary angels, finding the touch of time passing... Simple... In some moment somewhere, sometime, simple became bad. Moments pass with welcome and hold hope for more... Or, maybe, that's the midst confiding quietly inside, without the present sound of voice. No matter the answer. More no matter the question. These seconds are soft, like satisfying touch and warm want. While they have no other out but escape those still to come are lade in gold like the morning's first anxious light. Figures in silhouette against their kinder nature, they come to you with deceptively open arms. With rain comes life. We're all waves rolling forward with cresting moments, some running deep and with intent's direction, some only windblown on the surface. At some place waits our shore to fall upon. Being only offers itself. There is nothing in any time left to be other than what you're being, no false promise and mad rush to a fallacious nirvana. Hoping it might be different is not so much to hope but to live in refute. Being is rebellious clay form. It's these moments that most often lie about their simple truth. They're showing their own fallacy in rightful theaters and they sparkle most as those that cut deepest and don't want to leave their dismissive host without being there in the morning and being there any other time it actually matters. The symptoms of being (more than existing) linger in obvious infection. Time is spent, and done, and spent, and done, and spent, and done in fear of sharing's passion. Is hope what makes? Is to hope to be alive? Perhaps it's stripped and naked subsistence. Oh yeah, the leaves in the latest spring breeze are turned up and it's going to rain again... At least I hope so, and hard. |
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