Stasis Clock

This life has many, many details. Details that can break a iron grip. Firm grips lose focus when the tiny fireflies turn violent red or deadish black, purple. We can walk the road out of our kingdom. Just for a bit. Then return to find corruption layered all over the streets. Life once had assurances that wasted away at the right age. Mountains in the distance shimmers no glint. No haze. No snow. The sun becomes the doom that scorches the earth. Flexing muscles, forcing a grin, we enter the muck. Reaping tools to restore order. To make those beliefs not for naught. Bringing the broken seams together, but the line still remains. It is not what it used to be. Seams keep on ripping. We keep repairing. Eventually the length of the dang thing is too small to be worth the trouble. Wandering begins. Seeking a new place. A place of promise where we can adopt a new life. Something worth the time. Details are raw now. The wind becomes foreign. People smiles are suspect. Calling voices preaching ...

Too often our actions to prevent or erase is the festering problem. We see the terror inside the skin, the lack of judgement or the lack of resolve. Helpless at the incoming jailer sealing the barrier within. This type of challenge causes sickening feelings. Insides tighten because the problem is often months, even years in the fighting. However at the end of all the years struggling, most often than not, we realize that the solution was always simple, and very beautiful to the eyes. There are some people who should avoid water slides. They slip down the dark tunnel, tilting right and rushing down. Feet smash into the glass of water feeling bubbles race up their legs. Instead of popping their heads up and smiling, they begin failing their arms up in open air. When the mind is disoriented, air will seem like water. Life seems to about to end. However those swimmer moments typically have happy endings. The life guard blows their whistle and steadies the awareness of the swimmer. Embarras...

Hands That Make From the heart, energy rips though the veins down the major lines connecting the arms. Pure intent racing with every beat. A tender finger the first contact of the mind. Nerves spring forth sending messages up and down wrapping the moment whole together. Tender, yet firm motion. A man writing words made to be sweet. Thoughts and imaginations forever written in 1s and 0s.  Down the weathered router, lines connecting to the wider world sending a glimpse of a man. A man with a personal vision, and a warm heart that sees the glowing streaks of sunrise. Major districts of computers receive the signals. Storing truth into nonsense encryption to be made sense with every request. Written stories stored side by side with virtual powerhouses. Among the trillions of virtual homes vying for attention. Glass shops made of pure thoughts selling wares both new and old. Trendy futures begging to be treasured. A hopeful fire ready to spark, and capture the scene as the old one dies ...