thoughts

Humour is always needed

Whilst discussing and deciding which clothes to bury her husband in, my mother suddenly exclaims:

I did want him to wear a shirt but do you think I should pack him a cardigan because it gets cold in those chapels.

 

 

 

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The Monster Within

It calls to me at night,
The beast shrouded in darkness.
Silent calls echoing in my mind,
Reverberate through my heart
And pierce my soul.

Each night he lays,
At the foot of my bed,
Waiting until my thoughts drift.
Only then will he pounce,
Tearing ideas, limb from limb
Allowing only tattered dreams.

Then in the morning, he sleeps.
Content in his role, fulfilled
Leaving me only with fragments.
Scorched cinders of denial.
Crushed bastions of brilliance,
Fallen around my feet.

 

Living without passion

..

Without conflict could we still survive, would we still want to live in our ever revolving faceless world of placation? Would we miss having fire in our bellies? Miss having passion and love and anger? Without emotion are we even really living or merely existing?

If you were able to live forever without the fresh breeze on your face, or the spray of the waves of the sea falling in mists on your skin, or without ever hearing the rising call of the lark or feel the warmth on the skin of your cheek: would this be living?