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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Friday, December 25, 2015


Shooting stars, stuck behind magnificent pawns
On a checkered surface of crytallised space,
Surrender to waiting
Like a breath that’s lost its way.

Souls, shallower than shadows,
Whisper from beyond the edge
Risky propositions.

Bridges, made of promise,
Flutter in the crazed wind.
We cross, laughing all the way.

There is stillness
All the way to the deepest death.

Those that come back
Bring with them serene eyes painted with blankness,
Gotten from staring within too long,
Revealing that
Everything can be had from surrendering to nothingness.