Like a counterfeit coin they are passed around, they haunt us still. Then again.
Lustrous fake. Baleful moon. Your cats eye me. Discovered yet again. Found deeds compound.
When passed from palm to palm, quicksilver from stranger ’till stranger. Add another.
Test the mettle, never. Essence in repast, discounted, skimmed, then cheapened. Finally counterfeit. A feint of likeness.
The task of the light, spark of day, a darkened street corner for meeting and passing.
Never shall I look you in the eye.
The inevitable is never shown, but felt like mettle along the palm, smooth as spider’s web, city corner by moon.
Transact this, nature and commerce. Take this coin I profer. I beseech yet more belief a little stretch finely as a spider with her web.
Sheenful ice on barely frozen pond, eyelet with crusty snow in winter. Malingering. Yet the light of moon as vacuous and tempting as night. Ponderous silence, witchcraft and grave.
I’m seen only shadows. Rather not that shock of light. Draught of silver by sun, roundness of silver coin lit by our nearby star of a single Truth. That single brilliance shall never be.
It is stated what evil shall be done: always beforehand, then deed committed. Silent witness, oh silent moon.
Parting clouds that shield that satellite like an all seeing eye above a dark city scape, crateral, languorous.
On its unceasing journey, round, silvery, sees my misdeeds once and again.
The one agent of truth remains. The vacuum its unceasing journey, not even the wind to announce the silent path of Truth.
The omniscient heavens have mercy not. Not for me, nor thee. Not in passing nor in night.
– the culmination of past misdeeds- by James Legare 4-26-2022
Without Chaos, change is impossible.
“Sometimes the only way to tell the truth is through fiction.” -V is for Velas
Wikipedia contributors. (2022, March 3). Dead man’s switch. In Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Retrieved 14:54, April 24, 2022, – link