©timtodd_tt20141210_00021

Not sure when I wrote this. It was typed on a piece of old stationary paper. At the time I was using a Panasonic typewriter that I purchased around 1983. My guess would be that this was written around 1988.

 

Until Nothing Comes Around…

In light I hear no whispers,
Nor footsteps on the floor.
And the sea is just a box,
A place where dreams are for.

 

Silence is in uproar,
All we do is scream!
And all the different faces,
Are never what they seem.

 

Inside, the walls are folding.
Being tossed within our heads.
And things we do in seeming,
We should have done instead.

 

Drops of rain are seeping,
Back up into the sky.
And all the lives I’m dreaming,
Are a million tiny lies.

 

Once I lost the vision,
Left it stranded on the shore.
You gave me inspiration,
To ask life for a little more.

 

In dark I see the shadows.
They lift me through my mind.
And the hate that used to guide me,
Turns to love with passing time.

 

My youth I keep redeeming,
Living things I should let die.
If I could stop this thinking,
And know that I can fly.

 

The tide has turned to ebbing,
No motion in, nor out.
We sit here always waiting,
Deciding north or south.

 

And in the forest reaching,
There is a golden door.
Where pixies play in dreaming,
And illusions learn to soar.

 

Houses fill the inches,
Dot a mountain side.
Below the boats are anchored,
In a harbor long gone dry.

 

And in the dark I’m screaming,
Sifting through my mind.
Waiting for someone to guide me,
Show me that they’re mine.

 

And even though I know,
An artist can be found.
I stumble and I wait,
Until nothing comes around.

 

_ nivaun rahne

Author

Longway is the trail name for Tim Todd and is quite fitting due to the fact that every aspect of his life consist of taking the longest route and time to arrive. For Longway the journey is the destination.

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