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The Sublime Myth

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Meaning hangs on a wing and briefly holds together, tipping on some fine edge, a feathers weight from oblivion. Take this evening, a sunset settling upon the water, the fleck of a small boat with its solitary figure floating the still, birds flying overhead, each a part of a moment sliced from a second. Mere coincidence, a chance picture put together by a confluence of things in a corner of a vast cosmos. The birds trailing their cries in long threads across the sky seem to hymn a lament, the dark slowly closing over the world like a large eyelid before the coming of night and the onset of sleep. There is nothing but a sublime myth to keep the soul awake, to make of what is passing into something permanent, meaning kept afloat on that small, distant image of a boat set upon a blessed sea, it's existence flickering in and out of a pale beam of hope.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2024




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Date: 7/12/2024 3:41:00 PM
"A feather's weight from oblivion" That's as close as possible. Your descriptions always impress me with observations that most people would certainly not see. Time and place make all the difference to what we do, see and how we react to the roads we travel in life. Your sensitivity to everything is a gift, Paul.
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Paul Willason
Date: 7/13/2024 3:31:00 PM
You are so kind in your comments dear Lin....indeed gives a welcome jolt to my creative energy levels which, at my age, is a precious gift. Thankyou ....sincerely valued, Paul

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