A Window No Doors

Crawling they'll come up, and go down again, what they want to say, it's hard to understand because of all the confusion. Too many words together mixed up and a single mind to take decisions. Now, what should I say, and what should I write, Where's my voice?

The sheets of paper smothered with the ink of the fountain pen smudged on it are words of an older generation young cannot comprehend the parchment does not say it loud how old it is, it can be seen bound inside an old book inside the grayish dark room with a cover that has lost all strength the stories are still protected well in the old man's head he reads it out to his children and grandchildren.

In the endless darkness, where the streets are all lost, where all eyes expand, when there is nothing to look, when we all search, above us there is the only light that hides from us our shadow, and we can all go home, there in the sky, the lonely moon.

A few drops dribbled down the eyes As she opened them after a deep slumber of almost 8 hours to be exact. and the water from the tap did little to clear the dust and stop the on-flow as it kept coming down her cheeks. The memory of the current dream resolved all the guilty conscience and too many words would be too little to say to store this series of thought. Whenever she woke at this early hour, she would go get the papers from her grand-Daddy's room, recollects she, as she looks into the mirror. There, he is lying in his bed, where I lay now, and how strange that he should be there, when I know he's gone. Yet, there he is, and I walk into his room and I ask him the question in mind, "You really haven't gone, na?", says I to which he replies, "Not yet, dear, not yet, but I will I feel it........ .....but I am here now, to tell you to work hard, and don't worry or be sad for me, it is just to happen. Your end's too far. ...