I was made for Afternoons

i see the look in your eyes your wonder your confusion a world of disbelief and awe the tumbling of a heart we walk through this world as ghosts too often you and i - we wander the same paths regardless of the year or the company hoping for meaning but finding it barren or abandoned we are relics of a time long past our crusty views emblazened in our very speech we are champions of long silent corridors and saturday trading until one of books and pipes and evensong of an unspoiled countryside which both nutured and healed silent conversations between friends those days are gone or is it merely me?

these grey mornings leave me tired before the day has begun dragging feet in mid september stupor like too much wine without the pleasantness of mild over indulgence . . . the romans are still calling me to read think digest argue but old father time keeps slipping away with his gift i feel like C S L that reading is the main business of the day . . . everything else is an interruption i need to be clearer concise yet obtuse convinced poetic artistic mythical mystical i loved this quote i found this week: Bob Dylan believes in God, and Richard Dawkins is never going to win an argument against Bob Dylan, cause you need a poet to discuss these things. So let's just say I'm with Bob. (Paddy McAloon , prefab sprout vocalist, songwriter and now semi recluse) all this evangelical lay it on the table, read the bible, get the answer stuff i making me tired so i think i'll stop and go for a long walk