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Sometimes we walk alone and sometimes hand in hand

Musings in the Rain

11057321_10152544932886486_3165962359310326401_oby Brett Adam Sargent20 Nov 2017

Shall we walk hand in hand down the deathly deserted streets of a union crumbling under the weight of it's own concessions?
Dare we talk in each others ear regarding the images we see before our eyes upon the screens that seem to get larger in size.
Smaller in stature.

Once there was a beach that contained nothing but sand and the memories made by those who left a familiar imprint.
Innocence at the edge of the water.
Now you cannot be certain as to what you will find lying dead on the edge of a continent that promises so much...as long as the promise is not too much.

Where did we go so wrong in the assumption of ourselves? And what do we do next to ensure that we surprise ourselves at least one more time?

I want to touch your neck in the hope that touching something close will prove everything good is real and in reach.

Shall we stop in the middle of the bridge and throw carelessness into the river, watching as our hopes flow downstream?
Love in a time of blindness.
Need in a era of greed.
Trust in truth.

And where is the hand that nurtures the child from the cradle to the grave? Oh yes, we as adults make and break our own promises.
And nature takes over.

Shall we walk amidst the ruins of a cafe, the destruction of good people or the dearth of a reason? Perhaps we have time for all three.
What is it you once said? "Where there is an open heart there is room for understanding." I wish to hear those words spoken by the majority.
What is that you say now? "I fear for the days yet to come and the darkness that seems to consume us all."

I want to reach inside your open heart so that I may map the direction we should be traveling from the crib to the coffin.
Is it better to bleed internally?
Or to leave yourself in the middle of the white street for others to film?

There is a flickering street lamp that seems to capture in staccato movement all the light this night will afford you and I.
And I feel that all this light reflects the many nights of those whose days are subjugated beneath the want of living and the need to be free.

You asked me once what we can do to make this a better place walking...what is the weakest of responses I offered?
Rage! Anger! Violence! Regret?
I have no answers now and will have nothing but words for the future.
I offer you my coat.
You offer me your time.
And the night closes in.

We have walked the block of this dissected and disseminated city together. No closer to the truth...a little closer to each other.
We turn the last corner and you slip slightly on wet stones. I instinctively grab your arm and through this momentary act we know one thing...
In a time of more mayhem than mirth we have this time and this place to ourselves.

I want to stroke your face with a smooth hand because I love what you represent.
I love you.
If only I could smooth the callouses of my own skin, then perhaps I could see the way clear through the callousness in me and mine.

And then there is this...
...I am sick and tired of the ignorance contained in the bellicose war of words those who pretend they know what the hell they are doing continue to wage whilst the decent and humane are constantly dirt beneath the feet of those decadent rubes in a world that quite simply has lost its collective fucking marbles due to the fact that we seem to honour our own agenda over that which is best for all who have the (mis)fortune to spend time on this soil and when the last word is written so may it reflect that which was written first...'In the beginning...'
At the end of this calle we have one line at the very end of one album produced by one group at the end of their own life... perhaps there an answer will be offered...shall we go and listen together?