Dim Equinox

The insipid yet drowsy bleakness of mid-week...

As I wander, all about seems lacking. Each colour deprived of its hue and vibrancy; Natural tone substituted by shades of expressionless grey.

Is this coincidence? That so discernable a variation thus complements my mood.

Or am I responsible for rendering so dulled a piece?

A raven set aloft within a leafless tree, cries out in consensus. As though it had perceived my mind and sought to allot blame firmly in my quarter.

Adversity stalks close behind me, never permiting a moments peace; while denegrating hope. Furthermore buffed up by a slew of victories, his form looms large and besets with a new found mischief. Endowing small acts of frustration into an already arduous day.

All is mediocre. Even the light and warmth of the sun seem inappropriate. Likened to an awkward guest attempting acknowledgement, but shying away in the final moment behind the growing gloom.

Be that as it may, scant words spoken have enabled a surge of thought. A rekindled hunt for resolution through dark forests of doubt. Distinctly marked routes only brook a compromised exit, and may surrender too many gains of the journey already trodden. 

So onward through the tangled undergrowth of mis-convention. Hacking my own way forward.

Motherland

Motherland by The Bones Compendium

So Turns The Wheel

A token ailment still plagues the body and mind...

The former; solely a companion to prolonged lack of rest. The latter; a far more difficult adversary to better with compromised resources.

For it is creeping paranoia that once again raises it frightful countenance. That if left unchecked would seep into the heart of so nourishing a union.

Nonetheless; I take faith from the fullness of affection so liberally bestowed, and thus hope to be in the future more secured. Yet for now the cogs of reason remain connected allowing a kind of stability which is known to me. 

That being said; every moment differs in temperament, conventions of one time seldom fit another. Like the beating heart of a beast; ever changing in rhythm and vigour, never to cease or the owner will fall.

The flow must remain uninterrupted, and by consequence the minor fluctuations of luck and circumstance; less of a danger. Moreover, they are unlikely to affect the greater whole; Instead becoming a motivation to proceed.

The art of survival tightly wrapped in the silky threads of perpetual motion.

Qualms And Trepidation

A sidewards glance of unease...

Faint wisps of discord momentarily witnessed; unbeknownst before this time. On the slightest of whims a sudden salient of misgiving born into existence. 

To yield without question would therefore sanction this foray into unfriendly territory. The past given permission to intrude on present.

Events, meteoric in their inception, had little option but to gradually descend. This need not be an unravelling, but a manoeuvre to a new vantage point. From which a fresh perspective is given, a greater bond forged. 

For this notion revealed possibility of what lays in the wasteland beyond; something I neither seek or could stand to bare. 

Love, like the season, changes; but ever does persist. Thus that these latter days of contentment shall go on unabridged. 

A Superstition Of Misbelief

The conflict between belief and doubtfulness...

A manner so fervent and engulfing to be seen by some as mere masquerade. The deliberate distraction of ego; an unwelcome parody or the intractable disposition of an untoward rebellious spirit. The latter being of a living principle; employed as a valued vehicle of momentum, without which indecision would be ever present. 

Alas, it is too late; the gate opened, and the spectre given entry. Now the toxicity of doubt spreads viral through the pierced aperture of a moments lapse in composure.

Words that shine on a shadowed corner; which came from a place of kindness not malice and as such deserve to be heeded. 

I hold aloft this fruitful bounty of sublime reason, as if to perceive its truth. Against the light, its translucence only reveals a hint of the wisdom within.

Nevertheless, even the volume of my own will could not dull the glare of its judgement. Deftly working its way on a course deep into my inner sense.

Yet it is a thought I am intimately acquainted with; a most highly esteemed paranoia, long since buried, now resurrected. 

So it may be that refashioning of outwardness is needed. My only disinclination being: Could I stand to part with the extraneous parts of my character? The question of a backwards fall into the abyss of past behaviour, a haunting epitaph at this crossroads. 

Fall

Fall by The Bones Compendium

Changefulness Of Heart

The return of vision...

In spite of ever mounting work, the creative side roused once more; and after scorned absence now seeks to attain its former dominance. This blissful conquest I allow with all my spirit. For work, whilst essential, is fleeting. Whereas art, words and music will thrive and blossom if nurtured as an ally.

Perhaps forever this is the reason for my lack in wealth. I capitulate to the aesthetic realms of habitual hardship, ever to dwell within its spartan walls.

Could this commitment seem for the most part selfish to witness? 

This critique troubled me all the more than I cared to admit.

Should I not adopt more established forces which manifest without asking? 

Accept from those whom I could no more hate than any other, and thus in favoring their offer rebel against the creed I have come to live by.

For in truth, poorly could I withstand these urges; they are now a part of my whole, imbuing my  perspective to reach ever onwards. A vibrant invocation of spirit, warmed through by nostalgia, yet mildly tempered by the cooling touch of reason.