A note in time.
The busier it gets the busier it gets it’s that simple.
The spectators roar with laughter as ghosts in imaginary docks.
Bumping shoulders with each turn my life takes and pointing with every trip or fall.
I pick up pen to magically vanish within it all.
The stationary unseen object amidst the foggy confusion, organised chaos, life’s illusion.
I appear to remain relatively unchanged whilst everything alters.
I appear to keep climbing when the ground faulters.
This is how apparently we outgrow our adversaries.
I call it simply a neccessity.
Next time I might make a note to myself.
To learn from the previous space in time when I could write.
When I could dicsuss with my higher lower consiousness the meaning of life and tell my lower higher consciousness off for making rude jokes whilst people are talking.
© G.P Williamson 2017