Thoughts, Stories, The Poem
The secret must be written on the bones why else would they keep them here…
Mitchel David Ring
streets passing by a world dreamt and dreaming creation at the touch of thought…
It’s like the waves came and washed everything away…
The air smells of rain and the sea…
woven thought descends over dark water flowing…
Wake with the sun, and die with it…
have you found a way out of this prison flesh and bone…
Barefoot in the night, in a field washed by wind and starlight…
I was there when the world broke…
the dream is thinning…
I left a part of myself in those woods by the sea…
There wasn’t any meaning in me until you wrote my story
I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything…
On a morning cold as ice, Drank the poison at my bedside…
Give in, she whispered. It’s inevitable…
Mitchel David Ring 