My Days are deep, dark nights Deep, dark nights of pain.
Pain gained from misplaced trust
In the frail constitution of the human name.
My Nights are long, lonely vigils
Vigils on account of pain
Pain earned through day-long labours
On the hard knock school of earning daily bread.
My Weeks are a string of Days and Nights
Strung together by sheer belief
Belief in the resilience of the Spirit
And the lack of sense to know when to quit.
My Months are a necklace of Weeks and Weeks
Held by a string of sand
Sand that can’t be broken but slips
Through every hand that grasps.
My Years are a voyage into distant Lands
Lands that I know must exist
Lands where people roam free from themselves
And there is no distinction between land and sea
My Life is an Age of Endless Time
Time that does not exist
A conjecture of the human mind
How then will I ever exit?
(From the upcoming, The Book of Dreams).
