Life brings us detours, a burrowing through the soils and sands of time and memories.
If one could be Alice would they peer through, or avoid the dimension altogether?
If time were of the essence of yesterday being today, would we live our lives differently, or continue on the same mad rampage?
The quest, the detours, the tunneling through....the questions...ahhh yes the questions still remain.
The future leery at best , would one laugh at the days to come?
Or would they wait in silent agony as another day thickens, the passing of the sunrise?
Why is it we fear the lurking in the midst, the shadows we don't see?
What have we to gain when we choose to abstain?
Another writing of the will, strong, weathered, not forgotten, the hands of time.
Click nearly half a century later. Click Click Click...
HOW CAN ONE MAKE IT STOP?
The withered hands of the clock.
TICK TOCK TICK TOCK!
Are the dark days behind us as we enter into the light?
Perhaps it was just a dream and we are just beginning.
The softening of jazz playing in the background.
Baking chocolate chip cookies.
Forfeit not loss if we shall choose to gain..
Remain be still and know that I am He.
He who will walk you through the dark tunnels. The leery midsts. The weary shadows.
Never shall I leave, never shall I forsake.
My hand will gently guide you and I shall remain.
All that ever was and all that will ever be.
I shall be He.
He who will hold your hand when it is weathering and shriveling in to the gust.
The silver glimmer dust will never leave.
It shall be a part of who you breathe, who you choose to remain to be.
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death....
Prancing about in the snow, not a care remains.
Learn when life's weary breath gets in the way.
Of who and whom you were meant to be.
The sweet simplistic dance in the snow. The silent covering of the pureness of essence.
Laughter and kind embraces.
Nary a word. Your sunrise your sunset. Children at play. The serenity of dawn.
Where is my rabbit? My guide?
Shall I wallow into a world of hallucinations and daydreams, or do I gently place my feet upon the soil?
The trodden soils.
Laced with tears and fears.
Doubts and hopes.
Challenges and triumphs.
Burrowing through the tunnels.
The tunnels of time.
"Twas brillig and the slimy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe...
All mimsy were the borogroves and the mome raths outgrabe..."