…must surely bind us, and usher us with great certainty along our way.
Like cattle I suppose. Led innocently down the path, drift haughtily along the dream, visit among ourselves, make ineffectual plans and stare deftly through the dust covered glass into a future that can never be. It’s almost comical really.
A painter, and a poet once sat in a coffee shop and debated the merits of what should be. I imagine the conversation would have been served up better with the topic of what will be, but that’s the price of youth; always more in focus long after the fact.
The falling man hangs in the balance as I lie comfortably in my chair; unable to do more than gaze doggedly in silence. Thoughts that were once held in warmth and comfort are now quickly iced over, and served openly as a motionless horror.
All that you see before you was written long ago. The lava will eventually cool. It will bring forth with it a new day, speaking to no one in a tongue that will remain frozen. I can see it now; it’s the writing on the wall.
Rock on wall!