Hope.

Time.

"Time has us all at the mercy of the birdsong. Our calendars have erased their numbers whilst we sleep and so we wake up on repeat of yesterday. Nothing but nature’s sound can be heard, not a voice, not a word. Creatures dance on morning’s horizon as sunrise takes to her throne in the sky. We pace back and forth in a time-void-slumber, whilst the earth exhales, it doesn’t need the human species to prevail. Our hump-backed-neck's-crack from the electronic devices hung-beat against our chests. Mother nature’s cry fell upon ears only worthy to human demands. The paper commodity that has us tread milled to society. We’re so sorry to see our human iniquity. Take a seat, no appointment, no other human to meet, for time will have quietly turned the page and we’ll stand reunited with a glimmer of hope, pocketed with curiosity. The shook hand of our uninvited guest, change."

The street.

Life is it’s own treat, you sit stooped, honey-glazed with July’s promise. Your hair a plait of shoe strings weaved together in early morning silence, bittersweet. Scuff-toed to your heart's musical beat, tears sky dive to the pavement, tomorrow will taste different, fruit-flavoured with opportunity. Stand tall, spine-ed by scholar-ed words, not of today’s ignorant self, today’s care-free eyes are clouded to refuse the paged wealth. Leafed lessons sewn to the trunk of the tree-lined street, branched by the imprint of your unique uncovered feet. Enraptured by solitude but obliged to speak. Lay back and capture your desire. One day soon, you will walk the full length of the tree-lined street. The trees bow to the lessons that your voice speaks, palm-wisdom-ed by life wrapped up in your coat, your shield of knowledge.

Hungry.

“You chew and chew yet you can’t seem to digest what society has to suggest. You sit in front of six sunken-eyed-suits, contractually obliged to hide, their thoughts bubblegum pop into the hemisphere. Hammock-ed under eye bags blacken with November’s-afternoon-blindfolded gloom. Ears defeated, voices muzzled, need you hear a thing when society key-boards your opinions, jumbled until you clock out, your freedom hand-scanned to society’s architecture, building blocks of imported ideals. Designed from a construct that leaves you starved. The opposite, uncomfortably you sit, a hand runs itself across your rib-cage harpsichord, starved by society’s jelly moulded belief.

How brave of you to snack on your daydreams, those whimsical bite-size chunks. How do you know what you want? It’s been sculpted for you. Don’t worry take your time, wet your appetite, piece by piece. Now sign on the dotted line, a little contract, a life line, flatlined. A main course? What? That’s not what you signed up for. Forage, off you go, feed your appetite on it’s true delights.”

Set the timer.

Opportunity can’t be measured by the calendars of your mind or the constellations of your far-fetched hope. Opportunity is what the soul hears when it decides to trample on the voices that are against you. You decide. Listen a little closer, simmer down the outside chatter. The match that light’s your own flames may be so miniscule it can’t even be pinched. Strike the bonfire of your own desires, light your firework’s display. Toast with those who keep your head held high, who equip you with the ability to set your fear ablaze. The naysayers-glottal-mutter’s only pray for your foot to slip. Their clenched words, akin to passive verbs ‘inactive.’ You can dust off a grumbled assumption. The timer ticks, no if’s, no but’s, time is this, time is your scrunched-willed-fist to resist. Now is our greatest time, yet.