Tempest from Manta by The Spring

Waiting yes swirl of events, causes. Sense of chains. Heavy rumble, feet stepping in time to the storm. Mourning stabs, stomach ships nervous. So many little boats at the mercy of the winds. They have nothing but trust. Misericorde. Meteors strike the ocean every second. Undulating desire and the constant yearning. Masts snapping sails ripping flung about rushing violently through the air. Debris debris the breeze the ease. Midway between surrender and a scream - both are required. What is a life? Mouths gaping hands stretching inwards outwards. The power to change. Shifting currents. Everything shimmers together each thing is endlessly itself endlessly bringing forcing renewing itself. Cascade of reflections. What do you desire and why? Who are you who are you really? It's late it's late it's always late never too late. Don't wait for the lightning strike - it's already happened happening. Full and waiting. Womb of the world. Move your feet, you must. Here and now and then and there a thousand trillion years back and forth in the belly. Transformation. Bring forth. Empty vessel overflowing. Tea mugs warm blankets. Rest assured.

contact: yeartimechronicle@gmail.com