Weary child seeing world again and again,
strange, every meeting is strange, like a pain,
someone reminds her of someone,
and why do they all sit that way?


Images moving like an old time movie reel,
super slow,
black and white,
silence invoking a feeling reacting to what is seen,
stop hearing your thought for a second,
a second to long,
you worked it out.

No direction

Directions, all but one is the way.
Meeting fates, opening and closing gates.

This is the book of your times,
Stage to stage, from Atlantis to Babylon.

In the mean time you babel on,
as your guide progresses and your present life recesses,
leaving time open in a place to read.

Learning to discriminate where life couldn’t,
all said and done in fear.

Living by where to where, not there to there.

Simple place to stop and wait, need to find there, when coffin is near.

Carrying you out of this life to the furnace of no time, just tea time, your life, a little something to read.

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