Document1

[Imgormiel]

Document1​

This used to be a piece of paper.

You could once hold it.



Like all things, they fade into a distant past.

If you are lucky, someone else might think of the same thing.

A re-ignition of the human spirit.

Perpetuating its fickleness with a comfort that blinds.

Perhaps fragments found in some dust. A word that someone heard. Or a thought conveyed with a moment spend listening.



Your hand held message rolled into a smoke driven piece of time.

Perhaps, after all, you are not alone and you don’t have to be either.



I have images in my mind of people just as I had pictures on my wall as boy.

Heroes. Villains. Reasons. Memories.



At some point in my life. I will realise that I am nothing but a comic book story.

A pen stroke. Guided by an aimless whim.

I am but a piece of something that has no direction.

I exist and thus I am an excuse for ‘I am’.



The scriptwriter’s cameo...That same picture but in someone else’s mind.

My future lies exactly where my past is – nowhere.



Conversations come into a shapeless form.

Meandering the days passing, the weeks, the years.

All swallowed into what is the hungry gaping mouth.



Into the ether’s caress, I will fade, and you will no longer be able to touch me.

For some, this whisper has real touch.

It has breath outside of the contact lens that gazes and controls.

Keeping the constant in check.



My moments here have value. I am the nurture of each breath.

Every pulse of my heart has an impact that beats a drum to a rhythm of a purposeful song.

Salving your cranial fluid.



My touch fills you with warmth so great you crave it.

Thus, the battles for what is the ether’s swallow connect to each other sporadically.

The paper is there once again, to hold, feel and read.

There is this burning we all know...called...life.