Sandals and Sundays

When he was old beyond his years and could see beyond the crashing gears

..and find the synchromesh behind the lined and wornout tired old faces burnt upon the walls of factories

The basket cases fired in clay and brick and heat until they broke apart to meet..

The wise man with his simple charm

The traveller soul who would not harm a fly who wandered by… and with a smile they follow him and hang upon his every word.

From every mountain top he’s heard to say, to break each day like broken bread..Chew it slow is what he said..

..and after every swallow though not your summer yet the seasons of your life will follow.

Treat time, not as if a mortal threat but as a friend and I will lend a cloak of light as if you might be needing it.

Mayhap for a bit I’ll stay the light within this day grows cold and I am old beyond,beyond the boundaries of mind is where. when you look is what you’ll find.

With that the fire grew dull

I felt the pull of several voices giving me one of two choices.

To sleep

But to wake.


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