What of these days with their timely reminders of what once was? They prey on me, so unrelenting yet unable to subdue, they grow in numbers. If only to make good on their promises, they lie and they mislead, but why? What purpose does this serve? To what ends does they seek, do they conspire to make meat of me? Too true my resolve is not what it once was; still they flutter around me and through me as if to rattle my bones and lead me to what once was.

This is where I weaken, my time seems filled with sand it clogs in my workings and erodes away at my natural harmony. I look to the moon to find that moment once shared with its maiden, that moment I knew and that moment I did not take with both hands and both feet. Perhaps it was not written; blank overture, lacking fact and insight, a seemly random collections and recollections, synergetic yet systematic of abject failure, yet none of the aforementioned, alas, how fitting; a discordia concors.

Must I go back to the garden; its lush harmony warms my heart like the rays of the new rising sun. There I shall find what I seek, so introspective in its natural wisdom, yet so enigmatic with its dream like qualities. The riddles and rhymes will treat and enlighten. My soul will be revived and my thoughts will be liberated, and any and all of my virtuous misgivings will be swept away and replaced with euphoria.

Sadly so sadly, it preys on me, so unrelenting, they won’t make good on their promises, they will lie and mislead. I must not go back to the garden.

We make light of these moments and in passing we smile in jest at its absurdity. The daily grind for us is a constant aggressor, it bleeds our bodies and drains out soul, for me it makes light work so mind numbing and so defeatist, it frays my moral fibre.

I write as my tired eyes scratch, the day has been long and pleasant. My feet are calling out to be released from their leather prisons, their cries shall be dismissed for a little while longer. My body, only 8 hours ago full of pep and vigour now longs for the calming embrace of fresh sheets and a finely rolled cigarette.

It’s been a very long time since I even felt able to wax lyrical about random and whimsical anecdotes, convey nonsensical faux-wisdom and spew pretentious drivel about nothing in particular.

“A will is a legal declaration by which a person names one or more persons to manage his or her estate and provides for the transfer of his or her property at death."