In Time

In time we forget, in time we see life grow and wither. It is in these fleeting moments that one can and will stop to ponder the mysteries of life; the mysteries of time. In moments, time will fly, and others time will crawl. It’s been said that time can stop or stand still and yet it moves on. The only thing we know for certain is time moves on at its own steady pace. How we perceive it is entirely up to the individual living in this moment right here, right now. Would you rather time sped up to get through to another part of the day or to another day entirely; or would you rather it slows down to its crawl of a pace so you may absorb your surrounding; letting its pace allow you to take in all that you may not see at first glance. It is in these moments in which you life may change or better yet, you may alter the further experiences of yourself and the people whom surround you. So take a breath and see life for what it is. Enjoy the experiences life may give you, in time.

Forest of A Dreamer

Walk, if you will, down a path that leads through this forest filled with trees that hold a white bark with random black marks and topped with leaves painted dark green. This forest goes as far as the eyes can see; its floor covered with bushes, the lightest of greens. Their color illuminated even more by a light passing through the thickness of the trees.

A path lies before you that leads you on. The dark earth with scattered spots of light shows the way through the trees as the silence surrounds you broken only by a silent breeze gently passing through, giving you a soothing peace; reminding you of the solitude which is found in this place. The path leads you further in, as it winds around and through the thickness. Minutes pass that only seem to be moments as you venture in. The beauty and the peace take you as the cool crisp air fills you and light passing through keeps you warm. A shimmer of light, unlike any you’ve seen yet, catches your eyes as the path breaks through the forest to reveal a secret held so deep within, only few have found it.

The sweet smell greets you, carried by a cool breeze not daring to disturb the still water before you. This pool of glass is surrounded by a beach made of the purest of white stone. This beach holds back the forest that presses its border, just to get closer to there source of life. Still the trees closest are tallest, seeming to brush the sky that reflects itself off the surface below.

This forest and its hidden pool of life; find it if you can. Search in the depths of your dreams, seek on the mountains of your imagination and when you find your forest, go to the heart of it and may you find your peace.

PJ email - pjwiemers.works@gmail.com

A Journal Entry From a King of Old

And here I stand, among the dead, waiting for Death to show. He will come to collect his own. The air around grows cold, the life it seems to leave. An unnatural frost forms around my feet as the lifeless begin to stir. A figure, hidden by a constant shadow that covers his cloaked body, slowly approaches. I, fearful to move, stand ever watchful, stuck inside this horror dream. The figure moves smooth and silent, passing by the scattered bodies of war. A feel of sad excitement comes over me, as though Death is hiding a grim smile.

My eyes scan as the lifeless begin to make their way to the path that Death has shown them. They move shedding their armour and weapons, knowing they will no longer be in need of them. Laying them down beside the shell of there former selves, they slowly move into the forest and beyond. Not a single one pauses to look back. Not a single one hesitant to move forward.

And here I stand, in the presence of death. The sad beauty that is before me, the figure cloaked in shadow, pausing for one last look. A longing no man could ever know, for it is man that hinders death from peace. Death turns to me and with a rattle in his voice he asks, “Will you join?”

The words can not find my tongue. Am I among the dead? No, I stayed to face death, and here we stand. The strength in me I fight to find.  Every breath flows through me like a fierce winter storm as I stair deep into the shadow before me.  “No.”

Death gives no expression of interest or despise. Its attention only given to the dead, and I am not one of them. Death moves slowly away, toward the path the dead took. “Why do you collect the dead?” I hear my voice say.

A pause before the forest, Death turns its cloaked head, not to me but to the stars. A feeling comes over me, one of sadness and longing. I now know. Death once roamed the world in peace and he waits for the day he can again. He takes joy collecting the dead and showing them the path to what lay beyond. For when we all die, he will be at peace.

PJ email - pjwiemers.works@gmail.com

Long Live The Dream

It's only the start of the ending times
When you see the years that have long gone by
When you feel the fear of the empty nights
And you see the home of the morning light
It's the life that is spent on a wishing star
Or a hope that will never go too far
In the end, all it is, is you
As you scream from the deep, Long Live the Dream.

PJ email - pjwiemers.works@gmail.com