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Thursday, 27 May 2010


Eyes flicker, moving, roving, creeping across the type in an attempt to decipher the meaning and hold it hostage in the halls of remembrance - cells of remembrance. So small that there's no room wriggle or move or spread into a greater knowledge. It slips out the way it came.

The mind-fingers clasp and tug and cling to those flittering thoughts as they butterfly out of it's grasp - the caged bird is freed more easily than it is caught. With a sigh the eyes close and the mouth swallows. It stings and pounds and the words laugh from the white below.

There is no time.

Tomorrow waits with its claws out and sharpened and it grins - a grin that knows, a grin that taunts. There is no time.

1 comment:

  1. I knows the feeling. Except I still have three weeks.