Storm pale moon beyond shadows cloud,
Veiled deeply behind a far misty shroud.
Illuminate behind the dark side of night,
Shadows cast by a pale floating satelite.
Viewpoints are hidden in our plain sight,
Awaiting the dawn for its stark bright light.
Our misty morn blue heuristic advance,
The yawning chasm of this morns last dance.
We await the son and the magnificent glory,
Of our new bright day to now complete this story.
The moment of age we dont always realise stalks up on us quickly. Suddenly we are gripped, vice like, in a pythons stranglehold of age & our own weaknesses, disintegrations rough grasp. It is the realisation that our abilities not carefully performed & practiced, leave us vulnerable to our passions. our passions not carefully executed leave us vulnerable within this advancing heuristic storm fronts before dawn path.
As a surfer drops like a cork into the maelstrom of a wild raging sea. Any passion involving raw nature & honed ability needs continued practice to stay alive.
We must simply keep practicing our raw art. This Winter wild storm that rages within a storm. We also drop like a cork into the maelstrom of this frenetic life. We keep honing our skills & rather than getting overwhelmed by the currents. We must become skilled at harnessing the energy of the ocean currents around us - a heuristic advance.
