Here in The Shadows

“Here in the shadows
I’m safe
I’m free
I’ve nowhere else to go but
I cannot stay where I don’t belong

Show me the shadow where true meaning lies
So much more dismay in empty eyes”

These words, this song echo’s through my mind, tells the story of my life, here in the shadows is where I belong.

I often wonder these days, If I will ever see beneath the mask, at what lays beneath and even if I did would I really understand or know me? All of my life I have been looking in the mirror, through the eyes of a stranger, staring at a person I do not know.

If I could strip away the rules, pull back the definition, step out of this system, rewrite the world, with out rules, with out the regulation, with out the need to conform, with out the need of image, could I really be free to live? Free to breath?

Once more I pack away, once more I change my face for that of another, once more I move, another place, another time, another set of people, for a while I will stay, slip on my mask and go through the motions of living a half-life, a half time in the land of the living.

Turning the wheels, that turn wheels, that make the system grind, a system that I never really understood, have never been a part of, and have lost all interest in.

The alternative is far greater than I can bear.

Words……..

The words I seek……. They will not come…..Hours upon hours the screen lays blank, the story untold. I see the vision in my mind, I hear the words they whisper at my window pane, they call my name.

Once more that shadow haunts my door, there is much to tell and miles to go….yet still the words they will not come, they will not flow.

Unbind my tongue, free up my hands that they may fall upon the keys, more an instrument to the words than tools themselves, let the pulse of sweet words flow through my blood as once they did before…..with out those words, with out that pulse, I lay dry, lost, empty, forgotten on the shelf.

Yet still the words they come, with order lost and thought, deep thought some how on the very edge of reason, there is something else that lays beneath, though sight it will not yield….I here its call lost in echos of the words untold, lost beneath the surface of the here and now….something lays beneath, it calls my name….it wants the words I seek and steals them from my lips, my heart and soul, but will not yield.

Pacing round the room……empty pages, empty screen…I can not see the way, but hear the words that back away. It’s the words that brought me on, that hold me back, have I somehow lost the purpose that they seek? The words, always beyond my control they flow and flow, consume and place themselves upon the screen, take mind and body and write themselves….I am just the instrument….the river bed through which they flow, yet now beneath the surface lay another tale that must be told!

Holding a mirror to my eyes and mind, the words they see…they see and see, beneath the trappings and the face of old, but really see what lays beneath….there is a story to tell and miles to go…..woods to walk and thoughts to clear….they know my mind for they are my mind, they know the way.

The words they will not come.

What is hiding now, that I can not see? Why is it blue skies above get lost in darkened clouds?

Family Portrait

Painted family portrait sits upon the wall, happy smiling angelic faces, that mask the rot beneath.

Beneath the painted smiles, beneath the mask of oils, another picture lays, cracks painted over with the fine oil cover of the image glaze.

Look deep into the eyes beyond the image masked in oils, and see, and really see, what lays beneath.
Smiling father figure, angelic face of old, hides behind the mask of public face, the darker side to life.

Unseen, forgotten, broken child lays lost alone, it does not understand why love means pain.

Hidden from the colours bright, the public mask of shame, that hangs upon the family wall a picture lays unseen.

Sweet colours of the daily light, paint over broken bone, hide from view blackened eye, painted out of sight.

Behind this world of brighten coloured oil paints, lays the reality of living, of breathing, unwanted, forgotten, lost.

See how the colours merge, to mask what lays beneath, see how empty walls are filled with gloss and glaze, to paper over cracks of what is left unseen, unsaid, undone.

Endless nights of hunger filled empty tears are shed, endless days of lonely agony as one bruise falls, to be replaced by yet one more.

Angelic smiling family faces hanging in the family home, mask the empty walls of unseen childhood dream. Bright painted colours show a happiness the child has never seen, they do not show the pain inside, nor marks upon the soul. They do not show the mothers spit dripping from its face, they do not show the agony of all out war, the dreams like family furniture broken on the floor. They do not show the suffering, the hunger or the pain, they do not show the boot print left upon the skin, from happy smiling fathers face, the anger and the hate.

A captured moment of happy family life, left hanging on the wall, masks the reality of what lays beneath, hides from view, not just the today or here and now, but the years to come. That inability to form deep and meaningful relationships, to stand close and true, that deeper fear of people, of life, that lack of understanding love with out pain.

That happy family picture does not show, that what is to come from broken dreams and damaged body limbs, the years and years ever after, the silent nightmare of never really knowing love, or happy family times, of never seeing any place as home, any place to belong. That picture hides the times from view where growth was stumped, as child stumbles from fist to foot, where hunger stays a constant friend. It masks the ever after, and the ever after that, as years unlike bruises, continue to weep pus, eating away at the mind like a tumour, no one can ever needle out.

It’s not the acts of violence where in the cruelty lays, it’s not even the words that bite and sting much harder than any kick or punch, it’s not the broken window pane through which the head is shoved, all in the name of love. It’s the silent deadly nightmares of the years to come, it’s the lack of feeling for unknown love, it’s the inability to let love in, for as a child love falls at a price of hidden pain, but as an adult, the lack of childhood understanding eats away like acid dissolving  all it touches. It’s never today or tomorrow but the years and years of torment to come, endless pointless relationships, the agony of not being able to touch the most pure, most beautiful, for fear of clumsy damage deep with in, unintentional, but damage still the same.

The years and years to follow, of lonely isolation, devoid of people, devoid of love, devoid of understanding. It’s the nightmares that come in dreams of remembrance, the fear of ever having children of your own, that fear, that you too would cause that pain, not for today or tomorrow but for all eternity, passed on in family blood line, lost and locked in oils.

Reach beneath the surface and really see what lays beneath. See, really see, the darkness of that family life, painted over with smiles of family members, coloured over, by artists eyes, seeing only what it wants to see. Look deep with in the shadows of those happy smiling faces, see the shadow that lays beneath. That shadow that lingers and follows of the real family portrait, that comes for years upon years, that undermines and underpins all that child will ever try to do.

See how the shadow reaches out and grips, in darkness grasp the hands of one that was so innocent, that sought only love. Now see years later as it try’s to form recognition, as it seeks out love with out ever really knowing what to do when it finally captures just an onunce, a small fragment from the great table of life, that feast all bar it are invited to, see how with greedy eyes it devours it, swallows it, clinging on to just that fragment, as if its bitter life itself. See the lack of understanding in its eyes, see the fear as those around draw near, watch how it bolts from the door, another painted image on its face, anything, anything, just to stop them getting close, just to stop the hurt, the pain, that tumor growth.

Look beyond the mask of happy family portrait and see the fear, the deep, dark, fear, dawning as light in the eyes of the innocent, like a bone with in a leg, hidden, unseen, behind this world of the positive lays the very real world of the negative.

All its seeks is love, all it finds is pain.

Look deep into happy family portrait, look deep into the eyes of child hidden deep with in, see the horror, see the pain, feel the hunger as the darkness feasts upon that once pure light. Look deep into the eyes of child, look deep with in my eyes…. see and really see what lays behind the painted image, hanging fine on family wall.

Waiting….Lost in Crowds!

For years now I have been searching, looking for me, always waiting, waiting for a life to begin.

Years as seconds pass me by, endless numbers, seconds in time pouring like great rains from heavens above, falling dead lost upon the pavement floor beneath my feet, soaking into crowds that pass me by. As I wander through the streets of people, as but a shadow of time, my face merges in with the crowd, becomes lost, just another unseen face, just another number. Yet as these people pass me by, weave in and out before me, cross the path of the unseen, the shadow of the night, I wonder how it is they fall so well into normality, how they have become real people, and I still remain a shadow.

I am waiting, each and every day for my life to begin, I go through the motions of living, but I am living the life of the dead, in the land of the living. My voice lays unheard in the melody of life, is out of tune and sinks fast to the cutting room floor, to remain for all eternity, discarded, forgotten. Though I walk through the crowds of the valley of life, I am lost in the shadows of eternal emptiness, the long drawn out silence of the nothingness that consumes me.

As my eyes search the crowds, faces all unique, conversations worth having, thoughts with point, I am overwhelmed by the pointlessness of my own existence, unseen, unheard, I shuffle among the normals, the people who are, who know who they are, from where they came and to where they go. I float in and out, drift among them, a shadow in the vast hum drum of every day living, still waiting for my life to begin, my chance to fall, my chance to shine, not as a shadow, but as me, the who and what I am.

Waiting, waiting always waiting, going through the motions of the normals with the shape of a shadow, fitting my part to the music, the melody of that time that place. I go through the actions of living, without ever-living, I breath without breathing, see without seeing, hear without hearing and feel without feeling, I am but a shadow of today, an echo of yesterday and a mist on the sands of tomorrow.

As I wander through the crowds, I am lost in thoughts of nothing, slipping like sands through the hands of the known, through the hands of those with purpose, those with meaning, still waiting for a life to begin. For so long have I been waiting, that I have forgotten now what it is I wait for, so at the bus stop of life I wait for the train that will finally come along and pick me up. I search in the dust in the darkness of yesterday for the shape of tomorrow, the purpose of today, yet all I find are grains of untruth, masks of the forgotten and gone. Always on the outside looking in. If I scream in these crowds with in which I walk, will I be heard? or will my voice once more fall dead, silent as night, lost once more on the cutting room floor?

As I float in and out of you, around and with in you, am I seen? Am I really seen? Do you see me, behind the mask? The shadow, the nothing, the void I have become? As I sit through interview after interview, I wonder if they too see what I see? See behind the mask I wear that day, to the nothingness of me? That void unfilled black-hole, that blot in time? Can there eyes pearce the armour of me? The shape that I wear to hide the cruel harsh reality of the nothing that lays beneath? The truth of who I am?

Different people, different shapes, different styles, different ways, different thoughts all wash over me, reflect back my own emptiness, my own definition.

If I was an entry in a dictionary would there really be words that describe me? or would that space, as me, be left blank, unknown, nothing but a shadow?

Time and time again I tell myself I am part of this program of life, but in reality I am not, I am like a blip in the program, a bug, a part of the code that is broken, unstarted and unfinished, just random, pointless variables, lines of code that prehaps had a meaning originally, but where never completed nor really begun.

I hide my shape with a blanket, a mask of normality, like clay I form shape to mask shadow, to create anything but the harsh reality of the nothing that lays underneath. For years I have defined my self not by life itself, but by the reality of what I do.

The eternal cliché, lost in the land of perpetually flowering cliché, I pile metaphor upon metaphor, hide with in my words, words of the unseen, of the unknown.  I cloth myself by day in the masks and the shapes of the seen, I borrow and steal a life, moving from place to place, shape to shape, person to person, I am what I am, defined only by that point in time in which I stand, with out which I am naked, alone, lost and unseen. It’s easy for a shadow to take shape, to steal a life with in a life, for we have no substance, we have no reality other than the reality of that time and place, we have no purpose, other than the purpose of the act, of hiding the shadow that lays beneath form the eyes of the normals.

Years and years have I defined myself by my work, always trying to be more, always pushing and driving myself, by what I do, setting the limits, building the walls, all in the vain hope of finally being accepted as something, yet always, over looked, seen but unseen, known as someone who works hard, trys hard, but achieves little. Always searching for some for of recognition, some form of something, crumbs from the table that so eagily would I grab and feast upon, just for some form of fitting in, some form of normaility.

How many times have a struggled and strived for a moment, for that moment to pass, leaving nothing but more emptiness to add to the void of the nothing, to prolong the waiting for that time to come, that time I long since forgot.

I am a house with no doors, no windows, no walls or roof, not even brick, just a hollow a void.  I am the shadow that lives on the outside, always looking in, knocking unheard upon the door, seeking refuge in the night. I dwell amongst you with no purpose or meaning, with no definition, even the knowledge that I gained is worthless, empty forgotten.

I yearn for the hills and the freedom, I long for escape from this plight, I long to belong, I long to accept me, yet I can not, for I am a forgotten fragment of something else, a part this lacks the whole, a shadow born of shadows, raised in shadows, a meaning with no purpose.

How do I even know if what I think is real, or just a shape of a hope or a dream, of a way to begin to live? How do I know if the reality of what lays beneath is really a reality, or just a twisted thought of another time another place,one more string of hope to grasp, only to find it whisked away and once more lost, naked alone, exposed left standing for nothing.

The lines are blurred around me, the colour fades from with in, I flicker like a candle in the light, lost in the darkness of my own shadow, a person that will never be. Darkness befalls, endless miles of isolation, though I pass through the light of the land of the living, I dwell in the land of the gone, in the ghosts of yesterday. Silent tears fall from my eyes, bitter salty, they fall upon my lips and wash away unheard, unseen, unknown into the crowds that pass me by as I walk.

Waiting always waiting for a life to begin, a life that passes me by.

Behind the Mask

  Behind the mask, haunting shadows lay of the lost and untold, of the forgotten and unknown. Slip aside the mask of time, stand and stare with in the mirror of life, and what do I see?

The eyes of a stranger that stare back at me.

The more I search for some form of recognition, the more lost I become, the more unknown to me, I am. For so long now have I shifted face to face, mask to mask, place to place, that I have lost myself, the mask I wear, has become the image that I see, and what ever lay beneath is now so far gone, so alien to me that I no longer see or understand.

When the world is at bay, the doors are locked and blinds are drawn, when the air is filled with shadows, when its safe, alone, I slip aside the mask and wonder at what lays beneath. In this place, in this time, words no longer fall, image becomes but a flicker in the candle light of time. 

Here in this space, locked away from the world, a place where no one See’s, no one comes, safe from harm, I stand and stare at what lays beneath, I stand and stare at the face of a stranger. Locked deep with in the eyes shadows play out life’s once lived, images I have been, places I have seen, the differing masks of the differing parts of me.

This place I stand holds no need for words, its raw and ready, naked and dark, only truth lays here, not even the protection of the mask I wear can keep me safe from me.  The eyes of the stranger stare back at me. It knows who I am, who I have been, it knows the answers to the questions I pose, but refuses unbecomingly to give me a clue.

To far from the tree have I fallen, to even know where I begun, what I am, lost with the apples and the oaks I grow, searching for me behind the ever changing mask of today, with the wind of realisation blowing through my branches, breathing through my leafs, whispering the words that echo in the night……..

 ”Who am I?”

The Ugliness of Man and the Absurdity of Society

The ugliness of human kind, and the absurdity of the society in which we dwell, (dwell not live, for I fear that in all this madness we have forgotten how to live), never ceases to amaze me.

Yesterday, bitter cold within the air and dampened winter rains falling from darkened skies above, my soul felt drawn and dark, as often this time of year brings about, I needed to uplift myself and slip free of chains that bind and tie, step out and breath awhile.

Through the echos of yesterday I walked, through memories of childhood dreams, the places I used to run and play, once so free, so innocent, retracing the steps of the living with the footsteps of the dead. This area is dark now, empty beer cans, discarded bottles, burnt out bins and broken window panes reflect the trail of the future, reflect the shadow of the times that fall upon our very door, the broken edge of society.

My breath dancing upon on the air, the bitter winds biting at my ankles, my mind filled with thoughts of memories of times gone by, of what once was and what could have been. Across the street a calling cry for help befalls my ears, rips deep with in my heart, an innocent, beheld now by darkness vail. An old man calls, been thrown around by two shadows of today, much bigger, much stronger, they have there eyes on the goods he carries, the pension money with in his pocket, the means to feed, cloth and heat himself. They want what he has got, violently they pull at him, his pleading eyes call out for help, his fear a stretch that fills the very air I breath and causes heart to race. In  seconds I see the good people, the caring and the loving, the christian souls of law abiding times, cross the road, depart, scurrying like rats into the gutters and the underground, anything to avoid getting involved.

Amazed I stand and stare, am I the only one that’s seeing this? Two shadows tearing heart and soul out of light, bold as brass they stand, they do not care, yet no one comes, despite the heart felt cries for help. Is this really how we justify our own existence, by burying our heads in the sand.

I cross the road and pull the first one free, the other calls these words that even now echo through my mind….”Everyone’s a hero….” brandishing metal edge….”get lost you fool” his last words before the ground he sees spiting blood and teeth, red blood boils as anger spills, like his blood pouring, pulsing through my very veins, my core. Eyes no longer seeing, number one now turns to me, I feel the crack of breaking bone, blood racing from what was once his nose, the jaw is next and still on they come.

I have walked in the valley of shadows, I have fought on the streets of darkness, my heart harbours secrets of times gone by, the things I have seen, the things that I have done, the echos that touch only in dreams, that serve to remind of who I once was, that call of once long ago, yet far from forgotten. I think I am supposed to be afraid, yet do they not see that behind my mask, my shadow is far darker, for deeper than there’s will ever be, why then don’t they run from me?

Flashing blue lights, men with little sticks, guardians of the moral and upright, of the rats that ran into the gutters, scurried heads held down, just to get away, so as not to see. They come, paper pads out, just as rats slowly gather, now its safe the boys in blue have come to save the day, they sneak back out from hideing, slowly at first, they come with there tales to tell.

I am not really a fan of those that come with the masks of the moral, I try to slip away, the old man is safe, his goods once more his own, his money safe for now. Its the ever after that I fear for him. Tomorrow, alone the fear will creep in under doors and window frames, though he will try to block it, relentless it will come, shadows will make him jump, streets upon once he walked, will become his enemy as every moving branch, every passing person, will inside become a threat, its the ever after now that will engulf him, swallow him, eat him alive, my heart is sad.

As I prepare to make my exit, his terror filled eyes meet mine, that raw human connection, he grabs my arm and utters words of thanks through shaking teeth, he asks my name as those starch filled uniforms approach, the words the rats have told, the words the two shadows spoke through blood stained teeth, have merged, my exist is now no longer possible, in trying to save the old man, I am guilty of assault and must accompany them to the station while they straighten this out.

Red blood still boils, I acted to stop an innocent being hurt, I stepped in the way of the shadows, who would have stopped at nothing to get there prey. The old man speaks, places reason at there table, white anger builds with in, I need to breath, step free, calm the beast inside, I feel him rage, that other part of me long lost, pokes through.

The rules, the rules….the rules that make no sense, that simply now live to feed the rules, that are the rules, to define the rules, that feed the rules, that lost there purpose long ago, when a frail old man, can be battered in the streets, but  say do not help, as the rules make you more guilty than the guilty.

4 hours later I am released, charged with assault and some public order rule, they brandish out of no where, they can not have the public taking law into there own hands, no they would much rather have some frail old man, battered unconscious, left for dead in the streets, and the shadows that hurt, the evil that runs, left free unhindered.

Should I have walked away? Scurried like rats of the moral and just? Seen with unseeing eyes? Its that where morality lay these days? Should I have let them take what they want? enjoy there fun? while innocents suffer? all in the name of this fucked up mess they call the law? How would I sleep? Knowing the mess they would have made? knowing that I walked away?

Now how do I sleep, pending court case lay ahead, as I result I will probably loose my alcohol license, as only morally upstanding people should hold it, and the icing on the cake, my solicitor informs they will probably want compensation.

I called today upon the old man, he asked to see me, a face unknown a story of his own. I could sense the fear creeping in under doors, deadly like fog as I sat and I listened, drinking coffee, feeling a sadness engulf me, knowing what he already knows but refuses to admit, its not today, its tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow ever after that the nightmare will bring. As tough as things are for me right now, they will be harder for him, the rug has been pulled from under his feet, and he will see what I see every day, the shadows and darkness, yet I am conditioned, he is not.

He tried to offer me money, though I have none myself and could have much used that, I can not take profit or delight in the suffering of another. I refused with a promise to return, keep in touch, that sadly I know I will never keep.

This system is crazy, there is more blood on its hands than could ever be washed away by one hundred thousand tear drops form one hundred thousand oceans.

If this is the world of the normals, keep it, as I want no part.

Conversation with self

It’s late, the hours tick away and morning creeps upon us once more, sleep held back by worries of the old and the new.

Its time now to take control, stand back and breath.

This last year has been a nightmare, there is no escaping that all you built has washed away as time fell apart, but you know better than this, when did material goods matter? when did they become important? when did that line get crossed? was I sleeping then?

Empty pages lay still in printers jaw, the beginning made that lacks the middle and the end, it’s not that words wont come, but that fact you blocked the channels as you freeze alone and suffer in silence.

You know the old ways do not work, and ok the mistakes of yesterday can not be erased, but lessons learnt, you moved on from there, that old person is but a shadow of you, but you do not see, still harbour regrets, still hold the blame, in those days even I did not want to know you. That beast is tamed, you turned away and built a better life, shut out the shadows, and inside your own mind suffered more a million times. Its time to let go. Time to move on.

This time is hard, but it’s also new ground, time to plant seeds for tomorrow, not harvest crops of yesterday, time to find you, a whole life running is a wasted life and lets face it thats all you have done! One place to the next, one image to another, you created your reality with words that now sit on bookcases across the globe, empty and forgotten, its time to find you.

Music and Words..Memory

From images to music. Of late I have been searching songs that sit upon my shelves that bear sweet memory’s fair call. It’s funny how a song not only stores the memory’s of that time in one’s life, but the feeling and emotion of that time.

New music too, acts almost like a blank canvas, a sponge as such that soaks up the moment and stores it away. Certain songs bring back memory’s of times gone by, it’s almost like a gateway through time that reconnects the past and present, merging as one great symphony of life.

Hidden meanings in each tune played, each person holds their own, a past love or broken heart, time of high or time of low, it’s all there locked away in sweet music depth.

The blackness that seeps into my mind at present, echos well and holds the song above. I have to say that Evanescence at present hold much for me, I always feel a kind of depth when I hear their music falling to my ears, sweet sounds that touch my soul, haunting yet fulfilling.

Thoughts in Pictures

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Words fail to fall as once they did, Time slips by, not fast as once before but slow, silent and deadly, each passing second becomes an hour, each hour a day, each day a month. Time once my ever enemy, now my plight, my rock to bare.

Pictures that capture a time, a place, a moment, that speak more than a thousand words yet say nothing. These are my moments in Ireland, my seconds in time, frozen now for eternity like bugs in amber, these things we no are neither rich nor rare, but wonder how the devil they got there.

Falling time, be still and rest a while, sleep now, while words I seek to fall upon my tongue once more. O heavenly words flow, the ripened peach upon my lips, the sweet nectar of her juices run again with in my blood, that pulse of life that beats and drives the very heart of all and one, that underpins the beating heart of natures very call.

Rivers Run Dry

Empty pages that lay abound, torn out sheets from printers jaw, unfinished paragraphs left for dead, dropped upon the cutting room floor. Silent hours of staring space, loss of time, the mental race. Inside the world sits dead and bare an empty screen, and unmarked sheet.

Yet outside in the cold and the rain, the world rushes on in some insane race, the slow waltz heartbeat of the beating rain and blowing wind, give tempo and soul to an other wise lost cause. In the madness and the hustle and bustle, as the people scurry and hurry like ants, over burdened with lives so unlived, the words they fall and they fall, raining from heavenly skies above, falling down fast and hard to the ground, to the floor, unheard, spilling out into puddles, into lakes and raveens, streaming, never-ending in to that great sea’s beyond, washing away for all eternity’s sake, merging as one, swimming for life just to be heard.

Inside in the warm and the cold, the absence is clear in the echo’s of silence, I try and I try to find them once more, to speak of the words, to bask in there light, to write of the words to fill out the night, yet blinded by sight their calling wont come, their heart beat is gone, yet the pulse rages on.

More pages are torn from printer’s jaw, to litter the floor, half empty promises of sentence’s begun, paragraph’s unfinished, chapter unstarted. These words are elusive inside in the warm and the cold. Hour after hour pours down from the ceilings inside, slipping through floors, windows and doors to join the flowing of the words that pour outside like the rains. Still inside the words wont come, they wont flow or dance again, they will not string themselves together and perform their role on windows screen, they will not come.

Idle, not budging ,they sit and they stare, silent as night, I know they are there, refusing to play, refusing to dance, refusing to breath, they have set their own stance. Crying out echoes of pages unknown, of chapters unstarted of books to be written of worlds not begun. This is the blackness, that darkness that falls when the rivers dry up when water is gone.

Outside, yet outside see how they flow? see how they fall? Dropping like diamonds from sparkling skies, falling like treacle so full and alive, hear how they chatter and chant to themselves, hear how they howl on the winds of all time, free of the ties and the bonds of the old, the grammar and spelling the rules are unknown. Yet see how the world it passes them by, see how the people come rushing past, wasting the words of the lost and unknown, the half-finished story that’s yet to be told.

How idly those passing words flowing like rivers free to explore, falls on unhearing ears, with unseeing eyes, see how the cliché flickers and dies, see how the metaphor falls to the floor, wasted words are missing the beat, the stories untold, the lives of the dreams yet to live, washing away in the rain, slipping down gutters of the lost and unknown. Watch how they dance the words of the lost, see how they fall there stories untold, outside in the wind and the wild they run with rivers and dance with the rain, taunting the winds that blow in the night, unheard by the ears of the names that they call.

Still inside the printer snares, one more empty sheet falls to the floor, the river is dry the words will not come, the silence is deadly all has now gone, lost in the grave yard of unhearing ears, her pulse will not dance those words will not come.

Time ticks onwards words will not fall, there is sand in my throat and my keyboard is clogged, words once my friends depart from me now as one more empty page lands on the floor.

Their calling and calling, and calling some more, calling for words that once I begun, wanting some more of the start that I made, but how do I tell them the words will not come? The rivers run dry after story begun? The words are not mine they belong to themselves they come when they want and leave just the same?

The stories begun but the ending has gone…..!