Dawn’s promise become pronounced since three in the morning’s night watch. Charlotte Jean trimmed and snoring through a calm sea. Free of the helm I stood upon the bowsprit flying through eternity.
I weep for not that which is lost but found in now. Those who follow will have none of it, the glory and the horror. For it will be, I fear, all of the former. Seamless without relief.
Dreaming of Marilyn Monroe, knowing her only through a peer, who’s dad had been a producer for “The Misfits.”
When do boys become men and predecease one another remembering priorities of one piece of quality, versus a flock of schlock, furnishing our lives ahead; now dwindling. He dead while I tarry upon the cusp of my demise remembering when and why.
I live now by succor of words, symbols of what might become of the all of us as surf breaking upon a distant, unseen, desert beach beyond our keen.
The All before, still, afterwards--always--Be Here Now.
. . . royalty resides in all of us.
130107 05:47 dawn & Marilyn
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
