The host of Seraphim

The world gets smaller every day.

The memories carved into our subconscious minds keeping us
flowing down the same deep rooted canals of ill choice.

Or so we tend to tell ourselves.

It would not be any different, even if we actually changed it,
it would only be remembered as the same.

These conversations, observations, make more (some) sense
whilst riding my motorcycle to and from wherever.
(which is why I normally refrain from these type of posts)

I am currently at some odds with any direction, a minor and
constant recurring nag. One which I usually choose to finally
ignore after some time pondering my largely unnecessary and
unnoticed weight within my own self realised puzzles.

I have managed through years of careful and intrinsic mapping
realised an impenetrable fortress of protection against any outside
influence by bolting all doors firmly sealed shut.

Of course, I am aware of the slight and various cracks that are
rife and in someways necessarily visible to the continuation of
this rather extended bad day in bow creak.

I still, as of yet, refuse to accept my sinking, I intend to play the
role of captain (I look good in all hats)

Skin diving.

For pearls.