Writer | Director

Oceans of Time

When drowning in a mull,
Frothing wash of cranial pressure,
Ideas lap against my skull,
Piggy backing their predecessors.

Thoughts bob above the swell of the conversation.
Eyes up, away from the depths.
Responses defined by hesitation,
The port of thought where truth is kept.

As a wave threatens to grow itself,
And as concepts seek the land.
A theory will only know itself,
When it breaks upon the sand.