Lost in Time

And then those times
Where life like pleasant clouds
Softly moving through the sky
Without a chartered course
Yet never lost to gazers
from below
And then those times
Where life like wine
Poured into glasses
Red and ripe with zeal
Making us soft at head
Yet never foolish
In our choices
And then those times
Where dreamy Sunday afternoons
Ending with a setting sun
Perched atop a golden gleaming sea
Are simple yet magnificent
Without the need
for audience
And then those times
Where magic lost
Inside our hearts
Is filled with madness
Roaming like a ceiling fan
Only to find ourselves
Where everything began
And then those times
Where life has passed us by
Measured by our memories
Smiles and loves and cries
And then those times
Where life content with what
we have become
Heavy oak trees
Rooted in the ground
Still reaching up
Trying trying trying
To be free
—————————————————————————————
bohemiaspeaks.com

The Liberation of Mortimer

Slow footsteps, but sure ones through the morning mud. Mortimer was awake and waiting for us to save him. But as we walked around the mountain tops the day fell victim to the dark. What cometh then, we could have never known.

Long winters hibernating through our memories, spring cleaning for a braver day. The cold inside was profound. The darkness bleak like raven skin. A thousand pies would never make me smile, a thousand winds could never take our ship to bay.

And in the jungle of that island land, a thousand days of rainfall. Pounding drops of a saltless sea falling from above. Dampening the mud below our naked feet. With every step a squeeling ooze of muddy throngs yearning for deliverance.

I turned to Annabel, she was dead. Our chains still binded us as we dragged her corpse along the way. Our horde was destined to work the land. Towards that quarry we walked with dying footsteps counting down the days.

I turned to Mortimer, he was awake. Waiting for the morning sun. Waiting for his friends to save him from the coldness of his home. And when it was my time, I bathed inside the mud. Stripped naked, dragged along an endless line of misery. I closed my eyes and slipped away hoping that the load of my decaying corpse won’t be too much a burden for those who chose to live another day.

—————————————————————————————————————
http://bohemiaspeaks.com/about/

The Physiotherapist: A Fighter’s Mantra

I love you
More than the bonds of love
Can handle
Crutches made for giant hearts
Taking us afar
Sharing shoulders
Chests apart
But one emotion
A mystic sneezes rain
A vagrant breathes adventure
But on this chair
Forever
We can dream about the
Roads we never took
And picture stories of our life
Stories we could never realize
Everyday a different ending
Everyday a new beginning
Changed, maimed, marred
But more complete
More connected
An eternal bond
Between our broken selves
Stitching light into the unforeseen
A path for us to follow in dark times
A fighter’s mantra
For Siamese beginnings

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
Character: 96/100
To all the people out there fighting to become their better self, I have no right to assume your pain but hope to share the joy of your recovery.