“Time flies when you are having fun and even if you are not, so there is that” Gun Roswell
Floating through time
Time, is of the essence many say, time is going by so fast, they also claim and well, I have to agree to that sentiment, for you see, I have been sitting here, watching it pass me by, or in this case, floating by, in the form of a sailing boat, going oh so very slow.
It is a fun past time, time, yes, yes it’s that kind of a rhyme, but time is so much more than that, just the simply ticking off the clock, which I hope will never stop, even if it goes past me so quickly and that should make me feel sickly.
But, as it is, there is no use of fighting this thing called time, unless you have a degree in physics or a machine which will make you fly, backwards and forwards, whichever way you might want to experience, but if you get a chance to do it, it will certainly be different.
So, as I sit here, watching time itself, pass me gently by, I am kinda feeling fine, but hey, if I could turn back some of that time, well, guess I would?
“Trying to reach the lighter side while flying towards the sun, can be hard“ Gun Roswell
From eternal darkness into awaiting light
The wings heavy and exhausted from flying all through the night, but the fight to survive is far from over. Or at least, that is how it feels, as the only thing this winged being wants to do, is to get into the bright light of the day, wherever it may lay ahead, at least that is the hope for the weary traveller up high in the skies.
But what happens when the darkness finally ends? After having so much time inside there spent, can the light really be the long awaited saviour our winged friend was looking for all this time? Is the feeling they had been looking for simply fine? Basking there, in the eternal light, without any strife the best way of living it, only nice?
Well, guess we will never find out the total truth as some of us prefer the lure of darkness, the shadows so safe, there is simply no way, letting in that bright and shiny sun into the corners where we, the dark dwellers
‘Falling to ones death doesn’t mean it is the end of things.’
The Fallen Ice Vulture and the Ascended Angel
Falling fast.
Life death, all things that nature never really last. The only thing which matters is trying from those to move past.
The remorse, the regrets, the failures, all those to be left behind. Once done, shedding those feelings, letting oneself become, the undone, something of the other kind can begin, another kind of tune to which with sing.
But what if there is nothing there? What then? What of the scare? Only the consuming darkness into which enfold awaiting? Becoming no more, the one single state always hated?
All of that which came before, wasted? Like the sacrifice made for others, not being able to watch on as they thrive, being alive just because the choice was made to keep them safe?
Falling, ever deeper.
The sensations of the body becoming clearer, the mind following suit. There is nothing more to be done except to let it happen. The inevitable fate down below waiting. Getting nearer.
The end.
There will be pain, for sure. But hopefully only for a diminishing moment before the cold grasp of death so pure ends it all. Must stand proud, be tall. It is just a fall after all.
Almost there now.
The ground visible. The irony of the beauty there, the blues, the whites, the greens, all the colours so bright and vivid as far as he eyes can see. Something of a scenery to be committed to memory during any other time… but this.
As soon, there will be nothing left. No more memories, no other thoughts, no nothing any more. It’s the way, the death’s score. The being that once was, no more.
Yielding, to the inevitable now.
Even if there might have been so much doubt. The mind always working. Trying to figure out.The before time, before the fall. All of it. But during the all too brief moment, some of it becoming pure torment of the mind… the only kind of thoughts being those… of letting it all go. The forever sleep awaiting. No more hesitation.
The ground almost at level.
The last resting place visible ahead there. Eyes closed, no use in seeing it all up front, close and personal. The final hit to the ground as the body crashing, falling into pieces, somewhere where there where no one else sees it…
Thank the Force for small favours!
Letting go, letting go… the mantra playing in slow-mo.
A gust of wind all around suddenly. The soft sounds of… winds flapping?
Birds of prey? No, no, no! They cannot slay! Not so dead yet anyway!
Eyes, eyes, all over spy, trying to find the source of why.
Another flap of wings, the sound closer now, somehow even larger this time around.
Falling?
No, slowing down.
Being grabbed a hold of somehow.
The softness surrounds. A feathery light touch all around. A surprise!?
Am I, dead or alive?
The flapping of the wings continue, carrying away no more ground to be found. Higher ever upwards flying, another surprise! Perhaps even a soft smile? No more falling, that is nice. Feeling light. Ended has the fight, life, death, all things that nature. Is this something in between perhaps?
A soft gravely croak, somehow familiar sounds. As if talking, trying to understand the underlying meaning of the talk of it all. And then it hits. Like a ton of hard bricks! Inside of the head. A thought perhaps? A telepathic link into the mind sinks. The connection clearer now, as if a frequency opened? Or is this pure delusional hoping?
Dead or alive? The guess is as good as any of the mind.
Flying real high, far away from the ground and the fall. Perhaps surviving or then its just the remnant thought, of the body once brilliant having been. So many things seen, now leaving.
But the words inside get so much clearer. The voice so familiar that much is becoming surer.
Higher, ever more higher up. The clouds at reach now.
Could be so easy to touch them, but don’t dare. Not even daring to hope this is all real. Perhaps the one last dream before falling into the eternal sleep? Daring to hope perhaps not a good deal.
“I am here.”
“Who, are you?”
“I am here, for you.”
The voice too familiar. Having heard it so many times before. The soft hissing sounds, the gravely tone. Not of a bird, but someone, once known.
“I know you.”
“Yes you do. I came for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed me.”
“Simple as that?”
“Simple, as that.”
“But you were…”
“I know. But not any more.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever you want.”
“Am I alive?”
“That, is for you to decide.”
Flying over the lush green lands. Finally in good hands or rather, held by a wide wing’s span. The Vulture with the darkest of feathers so blue, taking the fallen towards the light.
“Flying off to foreign lands or simply hovering above familiar land, take yourself to the airfield in the middle of no where and take flight” Gun Roswell
Airfields in the cornfields
While visiting the side of the country Where the lush green remains for eternity The fields filled with produce as far as the eyes can see Isn’t this totally the lace for anyone for a weekend to flee
Peddling, rowing, running or just walking When al the nature’s offerings gently stalking But then something completely different comes to view In the middle of the fields with a very light hue
Shimmering in the bright summer’s sunlight Your mind immediately starts to fantasise and then takes flight And soon enough your body can make that come true too Because you have just stumbled upon a small airfield designed for two
Jump in and on board This short flight you really can afford As soaring above the countryside for a while Will totally put you in awe with a great big smile
“The rain will not stop those wanting to ride their bikes, motorised or otherwise“ Gun Roswell
Take a ride in the pouring rain
The rain stained the asphalted plains, but it did not matter to the hard core rider And even if they are really not, the tough and rough kind of natural born fighter It does not matter, because out of love and devotion, the rider will get out there And ride the steady steed across the land, sand or water, it does not really matter
Even if the chatter from the others, might want to change this rider’s mind But, being totally devoted and kind, to the bike which can give them a ride Well, there are really no sides to be taken here, rather the best choice of all to take And this relationship, between organic and machine, is not something new to be seen
So, mounting on their ride, soon enough the world around then is no more divided, Rather one and wide united road side, where anyone can set out on and drive No matter whether this bike is just a simple and manual and in need to be peddled Or a power house of a thing, with a motor which can make a die hard fans heart sing
“Rusted and busted and still functioning!” Gun Roswell
Moped oh so rusted
“When I turn ninety, I will drive a moped” At twenty I playfully joked But little did I know then And, that you should never say when, And, that by the age of fifty A scooter painted pink Would come in nifty!
“There is nothing to riding a bike after a long time, just sit on it and peddle away, it’s just like riding a bike!” Gun Roswell
On neat coloured city bikes on the small city streets
Some of them, are totally colourful, some of them quite bland Most of them, are in such great shape, with many of gears grand Then again, one or few, are totally busted, the metal on them, through rusted But hey, that is just life, and if you get a lemon of a bike Don’t worry, and certainly, do not yet, go on a pedalling strike Because, there are always more of these, fancy two wheeled steeds Just around the very corner, and they do come, in with a very low fee So now, since after the hardest of the steps is done Which was, choosing the bike, for some glorious daily fun Now, you will be able to ride down, all of them busy city streets On that funky bike of the city, painted, oh so completely neat
“Ride a bike, with motors or not, it’s really up to you!” Gun Roswell
Motorised Bikes anyone?
Bikes with motors are fine When you want to avoid that grind But a manual pedaller May be a great leveller When your pulse needs elevating And your blood, circulating
Rantings Of A Third Kind 
