Precision Point

Resounding but ignored,
A right I create
Out of the laws that I hold
More than that which I learnt,
My pace a hidden rate.
And yet again,
Ignored.

And in the lines drawn to point
On either side of my own
In working for a loss
Of a point,
Of a line.
To include and to encompass
At once,
To be all mine.
A point.

Content

The Works of Charles Dickens
Two Volumes

Special Limited Edition of 4000 books individually numbered
RRP: Too much


Huge, beautiful and more than a thousand pages long for each volume. Plus, illustrated and gold-edged.

Now added to my collection :)

Ivy

From times that know not of our physical birth, there exists an ancient drive, an unknown entity discovered. A hidden arousal. Born.

From there, no path is paved for return.

Fuelled by resisitance, a rite of passage of some sorts, it is for the frenzy of vulnerability, a complete sustenance in closed eyes and a rhythmic tread for which we pray.

In Joining. To Compete. Complete.

--------------------------

That step. Walking on air. Leaving the ground from before. Arms out in an embrace to face the slowly rising sky as you fall. Smiling. Waiting for that miracle as you soar down, floating, spread in the breeze. Each gust past your face as the wind creased laugh escapes from within. Content.

Carnal Flight. Progressive Fight.

.
.

One

Each remains distinct. A roughened edge, alert to its own despite the steady rise and fall as the swells gather speed to drop down in fatigue. To rest after fight. To submit to gravitated will.

Muted in attempt to remain, no will is ones own, as sucked in and drawn through the narrowed lines, along with the rest it lays. In a mound. In a finely balanced illusion of golden triumph, until from the heights they jump, and roll, and land, slowly raked to the side. And out of the doubled and tethered glass, it is time to upturn once again, another round. Another attempt to breathe, until hurled down once more. In defiance to stand.

Two

Sat. Allowing the upturned to drown. So still, despite the ravaging beats, lapped around, sworn into a numbed dullness. Planted firm in order to recline in a wait. Devout. For a clarity. For the final seams from the inside to the falling that devours, to be drawn tight and inspired. Hidden. Merged compliance. Convenience. A fall to learn, into hand.

Three

Surrendered. Left to learn. Each hurled and fallen to mime. A clarity to stand in time.