Stolen, forsaken
Stolen, forsaken
Moments created in time
Seconds turn to hours
Jon Collins
Word weaver, song singer, pattern whisperer, baker and candlestick maker.
Every Morning
Every Morning
Wading through complexity, noises a cacophony
Voices vie for supremacy, inner children, DJs at quiztime
A diabolical party, leaving you no time to think
If even thinking would help.
Helpless, floating
Keep It Short
Keep it short, they said.
So I did.
20 December 2021
The Shape Of The Thing
The shape of the thing
Mysterious, and
Not quite opaque
Inscrutable, bland
Yet calling, as if
A voice from afar
Its outline may shimmer
Unconfident, shaking
But still, it pervades
With consciousness clouded
Benefit Of The Doubt
Perhaps, he thought
I ought
To give these mushrooms
The benefit
Of the doubt.
4 December 2021