trustno1

Illustrious as Moses, divine in desire.

rare as the sage.

the leader, the wise.

One would argue, 

the fabulist, the illusionist,

the liar.

Cross continental appeal.

Shortcomings spanned over oceans serene blue,

stretched deep as her fathomless floor -

nonetheless, continuously convincing the masses.

Suspicion of the inception,

persevering regardless,

for the tree proves fruitful for the season.

Apprehension would be blasphemy,

unless the truth rears,

and with wild eyes, we cease to believe,

all we have.
For, to live in him is to exist,
and doubt would be death.

the time.

when we rise.

N O N E W Y E A R.

The temperature boasts tepid 

a most exciting adjunct to this new year, 

the weather in Scotland seems the only warm front.

Traditional thoughts could not promulgate a more bitter frost.

There is a mirror to capture my exterior,

to cast the length of my frame, 

anew and ripened for Springs arrival.

Though, my complexion argues, 

its likeness barren.

Worn from winds of a previous locale.

January's mistress emits ennui.

A sexual storm has calmed,  only a light snow lingers,

but the task at hand reflects a thin veneer,

a cerebral black ice. 

This proves to be yet another desire to just slip my mind.

until.

the noise made by people.

if you think nothing is yours,

if I think everything belongs to me,

how wrong I'll be,

none of us have anything.

there's a place I have never explored,

Another world we have yet to conquer

and until then, none of us have anything.

--broadcast.