Echoes of eternity pass by in ever-changing landscapes converging in a tapestry of delight, that once held cannot be grasped again, the train has left and the singularity in stride begins, not as one that can see all at one time, can grasp all, but a passenger in direction cohorst, able to taste touch and smell all that is within the mighty train, and all that is without is forbidden, no tangible forms, distorted ghostly figures bellowing tales of time, whisked away on a trajectory headed for the unknown we remain blind and deaf, oblivious to the whole, believing we are so.
About the Creator
Johnny Gerbrandt
Love lifting, love writing, love designing. My journey is a strange one but I love it. learning constantly.
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Far reaching
Far-reaching curiosities tending toward flaw, initiate consequences of dismembered context, driven in contempt, begging direction. As if no sound has been, nor has the heart poured its passion that it may be ignored, cast to the pile allowed to rot. It has been held stifled to smolder deep within, can it be seen, is it tangible enough that others may see, or is this mine alone to see. For who can know the flavors but the chef, however, his masterpiece may be enjoyed universally, the careful weavings of the mind dictate a peculiar taste, not one sought by many nor is there a connoisseur that is not rare, they can smell the emotion and wring the words and taste every drop, molding and shaping the perspective toward a new understanding or is it new, eons buried deep in the recesses of the psyche striving to reach the surface, clawing through a muddled network of neurons programed in ways unbeknownst, yet bending to the mighty will, the desire, to know, as the phoenix that was once ashes, smoulder complete, is apt for rebirth the expression of the whole that cannot be denied its presence nor its expression.
By Johnny Gerbrandt3 years ago in Poets
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar5 days ago in Feast
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