Introvert pains

Loves being alone, hates the loneliness.


Stream boat

We played the part like ancient sea gods thundering and hooting while the boats crashed. We laughed and cheered urging the boats on, throwing in monsters and divine smite. Now and then we were the cyclopes hurling boulders as Sinbad fled our island.

Little paper men, our tortured creations struggled on their boats. They were crudely made and wouldn’t survive the water but that’s all they were made for. Irritated fish would take a few peck to our delight, and small whirlpools  doomed the sailors who got far.

I wonder if any survivors made it to calmer waters, green ponds and muddy mangrove inlets. It would have been a long journey past much larger fish who liked to ply the surface of the river as if they really thought they were sea monsters, past birds bathing and swooping down in hunger and in the company of the snails who liked to hitch a ride on everything they came by.

By some mossy green pebbles the paper men might have melted with their paper boats ending on a well deserved journey to Valhalla.

Metaphysical dark

Shadows aren’t flat at all. The part you see on the ground is just their skin. There’s cerebral depth in their steps and stillness. Careful now, nothing worse than when you aren’t afraid any longer, for the night becomes a person to you; it’s not sunlight that brings love.

Simply put there’s nothing worse than having to stop when you to try to get a hold of your higher self, while chasing things you should be running away from, only to have your eyes close on you. You should get dressed, we’re going nowhere and the stars are always out.