Human love. Of all matters that are human, The substance of living is love. Is it in residence? Not too sure? Then look into your heart. If you find someone, Someone special Who is not you, You are alive, because you have love. This is the hidden figure of life. It is not in X or Y, It is to the power of two. It is within your shell, Inhabiting At the source of the mind. The source of you. ©️2019-20 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved.
This is me at home thinking about some ideas. Honestly.
Here is a hand drawn lifetime Which I hold up to the light, Just as it appears in reality. It looks too much like A troubled, drawn, mess. Which beggars belief. A torn strip of a B existences, Drudged in the gloopy syrup of time, Slow and secluded, styled and misled. Deceived and deluded Dumb and derided. It is a simple, singular blip in universal time. As the three arrows pointed out, Insignificant, as this life is, Most don't even make it to an event horizon. And the case for a Timescape? And the case for a Singularity? And the Event Horizon? © 2018 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved
Everyone is handed a sentence, Most trigger guard it, With shallow words instead. For all of their lives It is held close to their chest. Never intending to use it, Because it is too powerful, Because It exposes the Soul. Who but the fool Would willingly do that? So most keep it hidden. Protection is easy, Expression is hard. And the sentence? Look down, It is there. It says; "I love you with all of my heart". (c) 2018. Christopher Thompson
As a bit stream, Into which river would you flow If given the choice? All is ahead, it is all there for you Yet to be discovered. You have motion and you dreams. You burble some times with love. And the restlessness of youth Drives the conviction That You alone hold the power of the future. You concentrate in droves And Placard your demands for change, And march with a stupor. You refuse to revisit our past, Having no time for history. How will you learn? We offer ample time to be understood, But the precious wisdom Is not accessed, not even a byte. Afterall who can look up the future? Who would dare? Our engine shares with all Because of life. It speaks and will listen to all Because of life It will forgo for all Because of its own imminent death. There are a myriad reasons To fear the past, It haunts in the chromosomes, It leaches from the skin. It forgets nothing. And the time table of truth Tests the water in which all drown. There is nothing as unsure As the certainty of youth. Life is total or nothing. But the ransom of worthiness Is written in the hearts of people. And the Captain recalls everything As the ship is sucked under. That the avoidable plot line Was too rich for the young. Too sweet and too sickening. Whilst the tables had been turned. Unfortunately, The Baton too was dropped. And as the Delta is approached, The dead dangle. © 2018 Christopher Thompson. All rights reserved