When the clock stops
and final census is cast, of what column do you belong?
How many reflections of radiance stretch forever into an abyss of idealistic schisms?
How many curses are snatched away by supple gales; miniscule pinpricks of willful neglect swept away by this divine Coriolic touch?
when photons lie frozen, how many are bound by their immense weight?
heads down; tendons riveted; marble models whittled by innumerable coin flips.
How many continue to move in this void?
Observing with dulled senses; recording with empty pens?
Loving with reanimated hearts; mimicking empty grins?
When the wheel turns once again, how many remain silent to retain a semblance of vanity or sanity;
writing unread memoirs laced with superfluous profanity; a shadow of humanity?
What if they're dead?
When numbers no longer exist
will your final photograph be one worth remembrance?
Yes...so succinctly stated.
Yes...so succinctly stated. Yes...I like this a lot.
Co•ri•o′lis effect` (ˌkɔr iˈoʊ lɪs)
n.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
thanks night. that really
thanks night. that really means a great deal, and thank you for reading/enjoying.