A web, is the self through time,
An infinity of the I
Stretching backwards, forwards,
Living, breathing,
Feeling,
Impatient for the moment of
The Present Conscious.
We all exist. In every moment,
Seperate in our mind,
That mind which is called Time,
But nonetheless a web, connected
By those spells beyond ourselves.
A scent, a taste, a moment’s quirk
Of light - the mist atop the autumn field,
The sting of frost, the summer promise,
Those songs of nostalgia;
The music we chance to hear
Recall us to the P...
Published on October 16, 2012 13:51