Inspiration

www.picturesofwalls.com

Loosely inspired by the above picture:

Floating through dreams; am I awake or am I sleeping? Sweethearts scattered on the ground. So fine. New love. I'm me. I pick up the broken pieces of one, the message lost. In my mouth the words dissolve, are absorbed into my bloodstream and flow through my veins, become a part of me. Can you see me? Is there anybody out there? Floyd and mice blaming it on the tetons that revolve around the constellations, rotating through the sky in an endless cycle of days slipping through fingers, marking time by following the herd. Run away, run back, to the place I was before where bees buzzed and cymbals crashed. Fortunes are told and thought bubbles are popped, and who will remember us when we are gone? Can you spend your life running from the things you're afraid will catch you? Or will you inevitably fall behind, become dust to dust and ashes to ashes, glove is to hand as metaphor is to life. Don't you get the joke? Control. Release and you are free, hold fast and you are lost, swept away, swallowed by the ocean. We have all been left behind, forgotten by those we trusted and ignored by those we loved. For we are the dreamers of dreams, making mischief for ourselves to sort out: honeycombs of knots upon knots that we spend our lives unravelling, always unravelling until we are left with nothing but a single piece of string, measured out and measured with afternoons and coffee spoons. And T.S. Eliot.