…I thought I was beyond you

But I had only just begun

A race that you walked in on

A race in which you won…



Is it not a coincidence
That I am alone?
That the Earth, so grand and lush,
Is made of olden stone?

Is it not a turn of fate
That has me on the run?
Or is it I'm the only one
For whom these thoughts are spun?

I want it now; a place called 'home'
If only more than ever,
But it is now I must not look back
Or, surely, these wings, sever



There was beauty in the world he loved. Beauty and fantastical magnificence that towered heavenly like lurious spires reaching into nimbus-clouds of grey.
This feeling was prominent in his best hours. He lived many, in fact, millions of hours. But the feeling was also so slowly capable of being led away.
This trailing away of feeling led him to thought, where he pondered the movements of colossal notions.
This man wanted to be free. Free of all encumbering thought- free to be fluid and flowered in the garden of the cosmos.
He surrendered himself to his desires and with every exhale, he was matched with a cool release of truth, and lucidity.
He attempted all of this, at least, he was still so, so, bearing, until the universal suction cup displaced his energetic bindings and slew him.
This man is me, and I am Charles Henry Motowski II.
I am a continuing force that exists without reason or riddle. Maybe that's not true but I don't know at this time. I am aware of energy and its role in eternity, and, not being a man of institutions, I think I am perfectly capable of summating universal idioms in a nutshell.



~...Should a man act upon intellectual concepts-
Should a man resurrect idea from feeling-
Then he shall find a greater, deeper, beyond, yet,
At a place through which, found, healing...~

More to come~