The world is made up of much more than brave heroes and spineless fools. Every person in every land, of every color, of every psyche - cold or hot, black or white, sad or glad, good or ill - are part of a great story; a rolling, thundering epic, starring nameless faces and every soul who has ever inhaled even a single breath. Invisible people you'll never meet, forgotten by time, stolen away in a gust of wind just outside of your temporal reach.

Borne on wings of victory
Sealed for courts above
Soaring high above the heavens
Freed from sin and care
Let me sing salvation's story
Shout His praise forevermore
Lift your voice and with me praise Him
Borne on vict’rys wing.

Once I was a lonely stranger
Never finding rest
But He drew me to a fountain
Where love divine was giv'n.
Bowing at my Savior's cross
Where Jesus bore my shame
My weary life--renewed, restored
And borne on vict'rys wing.

The seconds tick by
Slowly.
My eyes wander.

My mind wants to
My heart bleeds for it
But I’m still so dreadfully
Unwilling.

The time escapes
Through the hands of the clock I suppose
I’m certain of it, actually.
It’s odd.

I want to—but I don’t
I try to—but it’s so hard.
Romans is actually for real.
Surprise.

Fast forward a decade or two
And I know for a fact
That I'll look back on what I didn't do
With regret.

I: Mirror, Mirror
Staring at this glassy slate
searching for hidden truths
defining myself by what I see
one moment I'm lovely
beautiful
beyond any compare
the next I'm ugly
my faults plain to see
I'm a vain creature
I'm trying to stop
judging myself
by the reflection
wipe clear the slate
love myself
as unique
I've heard that I'm beautiful
I disagree
but I care too deeply
what you might see
what looks back
from that cold glassy slate
staring

brown-eyed boy met four-eyed girl
six years ago now? almost seven
so when the ones syrup deep shot through with glass grass green
meet mirror reflecting window strong in numbers
lip corners turn skyward without knowing why
she returns from hot sun country lovely shulammite dark
she has not set free one or two “dear my friend” letters but
always writing multitasking while they catch up she scribbles
he thinks this message is mine and so it is
but little does she know he can read upside down

silent stillness
joyful calls
tearful laments
evening falls

daybreak comes
shrill beep
busy hum
vehicles creep

sun is high
children's sighs
wrappers rustle
time tells lies

day begins to end
noise gently subsides
homeward the weary masses go
peace again abides

evening gives a much needed rest
time again will stand the test

silent stillness
evening falls

Four Thousand Five Hundred Forty Nine 4 Thousand 5 Hundred 49 4549 days Such a long time and I have a hard time remembering. Of course, I do have memories, and fond ones at that. But I have a hard time remembering what it feels like. What it was like for the first 650 weeks of my life. I remember that it was care free. I didn’t have any long term worries. I remember once, when I was six and we went sledding for P.E. I can’t help but smile. 393,088,680 seconds. How precious each one was. For about 2.5 years, I didn’t have many friends. I was lonely.

The Legend of Time

Arvindian Version

In my world, much as on earth, there are certain myths that are common to all the countries, though with noticeable variations. On earth, we have creation and flood 'myths', all stemming of course from the great Truth of the Creation and Flood. We also have 'tales' such as Cinderella, which can be found in many different variations in almost every culture of the world. In just the same way, the legend of Time is found in all the southwestern part of the world dimension of Heszeret, and possibly elsewhere.

I sat, fingers twitching on the keyboard keys, occasionally writing a bit, deleting it always, most of the time still.  The bane of all those who love pen and paper, who are drawn to the written word and agonize over each and every sound as it slips from the tongue to the air.
Writer's Block