A beginning an ending timed to perfection, dwindled in lost wide introspection, born in dying and birthed forever, lies in this dreamland this seamless thankless endeavour. Couldn’t recall the fullness of being, the time where everything became nothing it seems. So trekked outward because inward burned, and sightless became a flightless bird. Can see the details of moments in watered heaven, blissful reminiscent twilight of drift is self driven, chance the second to change the life in perpetuity, to live for the given long-lived singularity. Can feel if feel is not bidden and can call to the other side to raise through haze, the wasted altruism, for moments where only the highest of cause can stop the silence and lead to pause and wonder at the change in the birthed direction, to perhaps ask if this was all that should be in nonsensical reason. Can crawl with indeterminate determination, walking on hands one follows the other, watched from afar in dismal application, insensitive pointless to the bother. Can walk can cry can see that this was not right, can fight can breathe can hope that it won’t bleed, can call can shout can be more without. Can see waking screams, can fathom their deadly innocuous means, can create cages of feathers, to carry the cries out to the nevers, can see the birds rising, carrying rage with the dismal dying, can see the red faced gull, that carries to diminished the words of the painful.

Call to inner withered self, and try to mind the lies own wealth, when it could because it should, silence indiscriminate falling world. As I would watch the little light, a sense of all that was, in all can be this little seed of hope for the living just. Unjust is righteousness and lowered jumping bounds, of worth and worthless running single sounds. Fly and by road that is redemption, more to see than this is me calling for detention, while and none in time, a timeless insignificance blinded by the word of right blighted intransigence. Well move my world inside of me well look for all that embalms this sense of me, for scarce the breath on the morning wind, scarcer still the redemption of the sinned, more than less and twice again, so say you say see the end. Blame and rage falling now clashing, born and died in significant dashing. Mine and mind stands against conjunction, lowered to breathing the silent assumption, mine and mind and drift for me, is all that sightless wonder believe. More than me and more I, more than we the silent sky as all but this and all that falls I hope for the time that true life calls. In moments of knowledge the face comes to me, in moments of bright assigned certainty. Would that I could look would that I should find would that I will know and will that I’m blind. My self is the here and hope the now, and now is the time that cannot fall foul. The breathing the moment the time the right, to walk among earth and know the true sight. This is the us this is the now this is the time and the right of life avowed.

Alone to atone for nothing at all, alone for the silence seems to pall, load and unlock the claims I make, in sightless wonder for nothings sake, but all I can ask for seems not far away, and so less now in the less than day. Call regret if I must and ask, is what should be now in the past, I look for nothing for the ashes of me, so say you so say you see me. Mirrors and markers and pointed re markers, rise and sprawl the life's little drawl. Show the me and reflect the dream and know that all is nothing but seems, pull down the walls of years of the wars and quicker and lighter burn the flags lines, looking for the space of self’s little gains. Make no claim on the ground of nothing, no land acquired no loss for the bluffing, word the way around the matters, climbing the walls on whispered ladders, walked to ends to which way the river wends and laugh at the fall to no false dream no more.

Veil nothing from everything that matters, calling for driven white lie spatters, over the wash and the spit of dimension, deferred to the last tasted well toned expression, pull the joy to the side of all, watching the great life wither and pall, loaded and leaning a sense of human, voiced again within the silent explosion. Rocking the waves of silent sincerity, oh so what does silence mean, liked to unlikend the path can seem so clear, locked in forever and forever fear. Won’t be me won’t see you, bounce from the lines and become untrue, run if I could I can if I should but nothing in all things does everything for a hood, cover the eyes and smother the self, load down in playing down from life's health, leave with the darkness and shoulder no blame, wander in covetous black beating rain. To ask all the questions in this new world so small, and wonder at the answers I dream of it all, I pass till passing no more remains, leaving behind beyond unsightly little blames, behind and far and covered in ire, loaded little stories where the world was so dire. Asking and further searching and bleeding for the want of the burning, calling the masks and throwing them out, quicker now throwing down resistant persistent doubt. Looking over shoulders of likewise strange, asking if all but all but self be blamed, whisking likewise in right momentous blaze to times less fathomed trysted maze. Mind over them over me is lied, over and over and over tired, yawning at the seething to see seething suffer, play little game to limbos plunder. Nothing the robbing, the everything ending, all insidious in all peace blending.

Bearable unbearable is classless insight of colours and minds and hands alight, war is peace called lightly in the head like fire stone and brimstone on the feather bed. Black was the hope and sightless the dream yet sound is now coming in the mended seams. Beyond me I try to see all that is there, in sightless wonder and lacklustre stare, and time and I, it seems so strange, that I call upon nothing and live for the grave. If all that can be is nothing but me, where do I stand against when standing screams. If nothing comes and nothing goes and all that rattles is ideas bones, how I can call how I can sing and hope that the morning, peace brings. All this is while and all this time I call to myself and wonder why, does this moment on tripping breeze hold me sway down and down to my tired knees. Insufferable the spikes that shatter and matter, the failed moments life running scattered. With distance a break a soundless wave, in shining reality a claim to the brave. So should it be this time that I am in all that is this shiny little land, fair me fair dream fair call for the time, and wonder if you could see this thin line. I shall not sway in time with it all, this dream of something and much less more. Time me not nor tie not at all, see if you see the trudging coming squall. A dream that I am, a moment that should be and this time oh this time oh let me see.

War of mine runs the fields of battles, where insomnia shows that nothing matters, bleed and seed the barren earth with ever the sharpened history's words, strike up from nothing to everything, wonder in mystery at the sound sadness sings, try in all that ever was, to turn it all to nothing but dust. Fall and full the pregnant words, birthing the moments of the silent birds, and all that is in anguish full, now watch the prayer, the last flight of the last red faced gull.

P Bridge