Time bends
Around a miniscule finger
Dimensions bend, for the clock is round
Here we are outside time
It passes us by, a cold, hard strip, interspersed with cat’s eyes
To think is to progress, travel is relative to your state of mind
They pass us by, here by the road side
But the road was only in your mind
You overlooked the most important thing
We are here, we always have been
To travel is to live
Here we are living
By the side of the road.
Christopher J. Hudson
Blog Archive
-
▼
2014
(338)
-
▼
September
(20)
- Vegetable Patch - Vic Gamble
- The Earth Is Crying - Lester Queripel
- Apocalypse - Richard Fleming
- All Because... - Janet
- Guernsey Poets is back!
- Life Line - Guernsey Poet
- On Returning - Ian Duquemin
- About A Bunion - Kathy Figueroa
- I Feel Like A Stranger In My Own Home - Lester Que...
- Sold the Gold - Diane Scantlebury
- My Comfort Zone - Janet
- Street Man - John E Blaise
- Bring Down The Pyramid - Fred Williamson
- Travellers - Chris Hudson
- Lament Of The Farmhand (1937) - Vic Gamble
- Electric Chair - Stephen A. Roberts
- The Dilemma - Ian Duquemin
- Come Up To Maynooth - Kathy Figueroa
- The Last Adventurer - Adrian Bott
- My Starlight Angel - Lester Queripel
-
▼
September
(20)