Sometimes it flows,

wide and expansive.

Other times, it

trickles like an

itch that can’t

be got at.

When it does,

so much seems

to be had.

But that’s an

illusion — so it

seems. When it’s

less, however, then

time slows down

and it seems

as if it

was never had.

And that’s when

you realise you

are just dreaming.

You stir yourself

to wake up.

But you can’t,

not without the

secret password given

to you when

sat down her

beside the river.


© 2017 L. Tafa




Author: b20f08

I enjoy solo wargaming and writing. The first caters to the boy that never grew up; the latter satisfies a deep desire to communicate. Cheers.

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