Glimpses

Flames leave smouldering words floating upwards as motes caught in the near stillness and silence.

I have learned the importance of spaces. Between words, between notes erupting from an instrument, blankly there on the artist's busy canvas. Silently murmuring. The space is continuously indistinct. Time is always an illusion. Now the vision darkly flickers with moonlit glimpses through wooded trees where something glints in the early mist. So very much to love. Though not the Devil.

Waiting patiently, sword point downwards, resting in dewy grass. Moist anticipation of the dawn.

Glimpses into the past; glimpses into the future; glimpses into now and moments of supreme folly.

Today you shake visibly. We withdraw to our combative stance where we see life past, present and future flash in brief remaining seconds before unblinking eyes. This moment of madness is ours alone. Nobody can intervene. Not now that spaces between the sound of steel sing their song of searing pain beneath cold beads mingled with warmth and the burning redness of life itself. I see ...

... glimpses amid thickening mist. Something poetic emerges from the silent birds. I am awakening.