Fly, fly my words, fly on high
Birthed from fire, fly through the sky
Like wisps of wonder whispered in dead of night
Soar free, unfettered from silence's bite
Unfurl your sails and course through the seas
Through my mind's oceans go forth from me
Search for wherever your destination lies
Whether in empyreal heights or otherwise
The infinite cage of my mind is too confined for you
So like flood and storm I release you without construal
Take your power and freedom and wreak as you will
Ever and always, for my aims remain unfulfilled
Then hurry, you nebulous weights of mine
Fly, fly till you find others of your kind
Perhaps in others' minds or in the black
Fly for you are not meant to turn back
Ex Tempore LXXVII
M.M. — 20-Apr-2014
20 April 2014
19 April 2014
Sundown in Cardiff
The sun falls in Cardiff
and amber suffuses onto building and bystander.
Onto bricks and rooftops and in the trees
the dying golden light casts itself
as the earth's warmth recedes.
I walk along with music in my ears,
a silent observer in a city of glass and concrete.
In all the windows I see sundown mirrored,
sundown and the world itself reflected.
I have been here before,
in another time, another place—
but it is as it has always been:
walking through the city and watching the pace of life.
Here the faces are the same,
and so too the movements;
but each, as I have come to know, is unique and individual.
Amber scatters its terminal magic as it has always done,
but this city is but another in the journey.
I will ever be the observer,
but an observer of a world of my own choosing.
Ex Tempore LXXVI
M.M. — 19-Apr-2014
and amber suffuses onto building and bystander.
Onto bricks and rooftops and in the trees
the dying golden light casts itself
as the earth's warmth recedes.
I walk along with music in my ears,
a silent observer in a city of glass and concrete.
In all the windows I see sundown mirrored,
sundown and the world itself reflected.
I have been here before,
in another time, another place—
but it is as it has always been:
walking through the city and watching the pace of life.
Here the faces are the same,
and so too the movements;
but each, as I have come to know, is unique and individual.
Amber scatters its terminal magic as it has always done,
but this city is but another in the journey.
I will ever be the observer,
but an observer of a world of my own choosing.
Ex Tempore LXXVI
M.M. — 19-Apr-2014
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