I feel the temperature fall.
a swirl of air carries a change of color,
and a lengthening of shadow;
The smell of life and death,
vitality and rot,
come to visit my time of day.

a peaceful moment behind a castle;
at the bottom of a mountain
where granite lines and shadows define
the trees that wave to the wind.
The union of nature and man
stands out vibrant and alive.

I think of the ocean
and the million lights on the waves
as the salt soothes my nose
and the sound of crashing water
mixes with the wind as music
for sir sol's daily curtain call.

Pink is the mountain
whose snow shows us the late day color
and you wish the moment to last
until it begins again
tomorrow.


Ascend and fly free, away, and far before,
ever more, to be around and alone,
forever to never be.

And of course again a small luminescent cloud sails
toward the west as the sun rises.
The plain is in its oranges,
not the reds of sunset
and the rocks in our circle
have a glint of mica;
through the paint, our god
has peeked above the horizon.

I wish today my mark is true
and the hunt is in my favor.


To see a gleam of light on a drop of water
or feel the cold sting your nose
perhaps the feeling of sitting in the grass
in the morning
before the dew has had a chance to dry
or maybe the smell of dirt
after a hard day's play
or the way the ground looks
when it's time to go in
but you can't bear the thought
of ending something 
that you know deep down
will never happen again.


blue and orange, a small insect writhes
above the table, above my mind
it stretches out, toward another room
I feel it moving on my arm.

I don't know him or even care to say a word
I won't save him, but maybe I should try
Oh, I think I'll just put him in my mouth
and swallow.



A cascade of light surrounds me
and pulses with the force of glamour
for the insane and misinformed
a blank people evil in their intention
motionless in their anonymity
Alive, I feel above, beside, behind
the lie of supermen
the brutality of the deep
deep dark recesses
of my mind.



A swirl of orange and red flame
rises through falling drops of water
so clear, clean, an explosion
as heat washes through my mind, my brow,
my hand becomes stone and clay
again one with the earth
one with the wood it holds
invisible to the eye, solid in its touch
to tell the dark scribble of worm like thoughts
rising in a cloud, a cloud of time
a movement of circles, and infinity
ageless yet old, nights of black
with fire in plumes rising
in sparks cluttering the sky.


The scent of killing fireflies
permeates every pore
of an eternal desert

I won't be fooled by sincerity
of life becoming old
of monarchs and kings arising
to take the responsibility for the decline
and failure of a social catastrophe

I feel the chill and cold motion
of a final breath
exasperation
humiliation
failure
and concrete

before life can leave
resolution


Time away from the sun
is time spent in scarlet mystery
of life, love and simple pleasures
of a mind obsessed with the possessions of others

and a wolf cries an unborn pup to sleep
while a man circles a worn hand
over a flame, a sun, a mystery
and chants of a purpose
for man's life

[Cover | Surroundings | Creativity | Darkness | Life | Nature | Love | Peace | Epilogue]

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"A Look is my Will to Be" ©1997, 1999 Paul Mascott/ Masco Music, all rights reserved

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Paul Mascott and Masco Music retain all rights to this work.