Peace in the World

One hand clapping in time to the music within the silence. The darkness recedes although there is wind with the rain. It is attention seeking, it will not stir. The darkness now darkens, the wind recedes, the rain takes centre stage. Candles burn as if in rebellion. The eyes engage with the view. There's a church in the distance and it is asking me for prayers. I turn to the moon, its love unconquered yet. The night is alive. It has won the day. The clock ticks on, in another eternity. Silence claws for appointment. Its a psychical moment. Earth is in control and the feeling is of strength and envelopement. And still it rains, and yet it rains in the darkness with the moon watching over in supervision. A moment is born that can not be evaded. It takes itself perfectly seriously. Memories are the only life around outside of the present world. Alas, they are but memories and perhaps were always fated to be so. Angels dance, horses play, its all in movement, until the movement returns to stillness and silence re-enters the room. And the life within adheres to the silence, not waiting for an oppportunity to speak, but for fusion. The wind and the rain have died now. The silence has taken control. Even sounds in the far-off distance now seem self-conscious and attempt to still themselves. There is oneness in the night. There is peace in the world.

Circles (Time is Alive)

All in the circle. Airport tears. Long finger, never-neverland love. The figures and the faces of the Kaleidescope gaze back in turn. The moon looks. The street is alive with Jazz. Music is yet to find a voice. Other places are entering minds as other places are exiting them. Life is silent, it has come to a stop. It looks within at itself and then runs away frightened and increases movement. There's a fight going on in an inner city street. The pubs are ablaze with emptiness and horse-racing. People are in cars and buses and taxis going places while other people are home and going nowhere but home. That's where the questioning begins. Its a lot to call yourself at home. How long can it last? Circles everythere, nobody sees them, but they are there alright. Ther's a charity collector looking for change and she has no need for money. She is on stage and away from home, thinking in public for once. Its summertime and life is hot and the skies sometimes cry. There is a little more freedom in the air. There is less explaining to do. It is a shared thing. I'm stuck inside of the daytime thinking about love, and what there is to find there. Today life is neon somehow, and expressive. It sings as it doesn't speak. There's a circle going on. Time is alive. its a shared experience, open to interpretation, but its just circles, circles, circles.