A lovely day to each of us. Their regards, the best of us all. Every second, earlier than most, there are no mistakes. New faces, new resolution, and a happy new year! Advertisements
Blood is pumping, arteries tightening. A flushed face, blushing red. There is love, extreme patience. Know what’s true, the difference in lies. Following this somewhere, going another distance. Flowing free, chemical balance. Bonding over us, finding from the start, no one is immune to it.
What could be, assuming of course, there never was? How am I different, if I love all the same? Where does this go? How does it end? Why does life feel, predicting doubt, like a dream?
I couldn’t help it, staring off. My mind found comfort, a woeful sigh. Another moment, the willing looks of curious trends. There was a tall variety, one last willful gaze. I will be relieved, then cast a smile. His body conformed, just as mine. Somewhere in that time, looks went away. I will not easily … More Beauty and the Onlooker by Devin Pavlischak/ December 29th, 2015 ©
Our heroes are blind, they are brave. Seeking justice, portraying redemption. Second chances, people follow choices, cast by revenge. Complex people, delaying choice, justifying nature. There is an art, compressed beauty, to feel, to comprise, to make a life.
Will I be remembered? What does history remember about its forgotten writers? Does fame come after death? What does that say about when we’re living? What lies can be forgiven? How does this dilemma bring us to the end? What do you remember about me?
An eager rest, timid, quiet. There is the evening, early, kind. This is far from over, unplaced, balanced. These amazing few, beautiful, embraced. Our story expands without regret, regards to my equal.
Unoriginal, taunting the writer. Lonely ties, torn, cheated, relieved. Terrible writing, forced and rigid. The writers pain, rejoicing for losing. Bleeding ink, writing bleeds out. Dying of loss, losing another. The greatness faded, it was a period of writers.
There’s a stain, wine and ink. There’s a word, a name. There was a person, attractive, handsome. They’re all gone, dead, accepting. They’ve become us, reminding me, eventually we all flourish. There was a solution, problems among living beings. Here was a story, there was a strange joy.
There is a swift end, you’re in pursuit. Sometimes this dream is a lie. Someone should know the truth. Only the ending can retort a beginning. For now, we don’t go further.