Time

Creative worlds lie inches apart, and yet the distances between them seem impermeable and rough.
An ivory tower is always surrounded by thorns and dargons, the same way a magicians cottage is always in the deepest, darkest woods.
Wandering alone is soalce and comforrt, our minds celbrate the strange delicacies of being unique, tortured and bound.
The generations before us – bound by religion and bloody war – found comfort in the nature we destroy.
Loneliness builds both wisdom and bitterness. The more we are alone the greater our mind, yet increasingly blighted by the cruelty of the human spirit.
Communities are vengeful against isolation, suspicious of those who choose it, expecting them to be toiling in misdeed.
The simple beauty of a private monent is reflected in a sound no one can hear, a jewel no one has seen, a prisoner no one can touch.
To drown is to collaorate, to accept, to become one.
Nurtured and born in water, we cleanse our adult lives with it, physically we rely on it. It hols the spirit of life, or without it, there would be none.
To be consumed by it cleanses the soul, dampens the emotions, kills the brain, tames the body. And yet – beyond this end – its power continues. Everlasting.
Whilst we end, everything else remains. Time as a concept may be abolished, but the passing of it cannot be avoided.
As much as we protest, we are dragged wearily through the hours, the days, the years.
Their passing speeds with time,
complacency takes the place of passion,
Realism defends against dreams,
Anxiety replaces play.
In both wasted hours and fruitful moments, time strides on regardless.
When obligation calls,
desire screams,
hope sings,
fear echoes.