My place in the sun





























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AFTER THE CRASH

Taking dreams off the shelf, wiping off the settled dust repairing wounded parts of myself; disillusion baking a hard crust; an armour of protection, sealing blocking my trust. Looking at old stillborn dreams, scars not only renewing pain, also the zest of lifestreams the vibrance of being born again releasing pent up inner screams numbed by shackled restrain. Marking off different stages pivotal points clear and stark, some clouded by varying ages, others half forgotten in the dark, a few scribbled on a page, delicately folded into a bookmark. From brimming bubbling success, to stumbling bumbling tripping failure, all parts are more or less that which helps me to endure, when all seems a random mess in a discordant overture.
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HIGHWAY MINISTRY

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