P.T.S.D

We sit and talk quietly, with long lapses of silence, and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech.

There are days when that is the last place in the world where you want to be but you have to be there, like a movie, because it      features you.

It is raining today in the mountains. It is a warm green rain with love in its pockets for spring is here, and does not dream of death.

And I realize that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it’s all in my mind.

No man has the right to dictate what other men should perceive, create or produce, but all should be encouraged to reveal themselves, their perceptions and emotions, and to build confidence in the creative spirit.

Perhaps I am the worst type of person. I believe that deep down I am good, I believe that my actions are done with the goodness of my heart. But now when I look at myself, I cannot help but shiver at my own hypocrisy. Surely most people think the same? That they are acting with golden intentions. As the days go on, goodness fades not to evil but to indifference.