posted
Words tumbling down over themselves. A great symphony of thoughts and ideas, played out under close supervision. Can’t you hear the music? It rolls and pitches in the tempest that now besets you. Springing lightly from word to word, as skipping stones on a clear summer day, touching gently, skimming the surface, bounce after bounce after bounce, until it breaches the face and plunges down. Brass and timpani spring up in high cadence, washing over each other, beating down and down again. Point followed by meandering supplication, crashed down upon again by the heavy beat of rationalization. A great myriad of concepts, spinning and twirling, floating and frothing in a vast sea of chaotic turbulence.
Crashing now, onto the rocks that beset the shore, some great, granite giant sits pondering the ebb and flow that breaks and splashes on his toes. One great river ruptures and out pours the icy contents into the wondrous bay set before this stony countenance. Pushing, pulling, breaking and reforming, the water barley ceases in its anger and its love. An ocean now is formed, a basin of tranquility and tides, brimming over with typhoon and meekness it extends it’s broad horizons, ever growing. Now none can see the icy shores up North not the baking coastlines to the East.
Once again the drum line picks up the beat, pacing ever forward, onward, marching into darkness and through light. Beams of piercing thought barrage the army now set forth, illuminating, annihilating, this great band presses on ahead once more. Through wince we sail we know not, save glory be to he who finds, praise the motion, to the fore we go.
posted
*Has never cared what kind of beer he is drinking.
Hey Hobbes, that's really good what you wrote. A little tough for my tired mind to roll thru, but good none the less.
Posts: 2208 | Registered: Feb 2004
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