Musings of an Old Soul

My soul is made of memories as intricate as the stars; there's no emotion I haven't felt before, no trade I haven't learnt by heart. There are places I've visited in lifetimes long ago - pictures of Greece and Egypt and Rome, are not mere pictures to me anymore. That's how I know I've known…

Enjoying obscurity

What a strange breed we writers are! What a strange set of preferences we have - a pursuit of the spotlight, yet also the veil of the wings. We have our grey areas - those frequently trodden, yet still, somehow obscure and personal domain, somewhere between black and white roads, a place to reflect and…

Pariah

The gate is unguarded; moss carpets the stony path a solitary keeper sits smoking a forgotten leaf looks but once at me, quite carelessly, then turns his back - I'm used to this. I search his eyes for a sign I'm new here too, like everyone else, Would he guide me? His eyes give the…

Full Moon

Nocturnal voyage, the shore not nigh the rhythm of blue waters...a lullaby... Her hypnotic gleam doth mesmerise - 'Don't look up', I say, 'lest it be a long night', on these waves with their lullaby, sway and sigh and sway and sigh. The waters mirror her; they shimmer as I row - only but the…

Imitations

He plays the Lyre of all our lives - Artists, a mere string or two do strum. Mocking another's creation by duplicating and tampering with the notes, O Child, is the mocking, the thwarting, of God's own divine hum; and though mere mortals may falter, He always does recognise - the true, from the false…