Rainbow love

I ask for no memorial no headstone, tomb, or tree for all are finite, in their time, no – these are not for me.

I am loved.

The clock is ticking on … the climax is foretold, the world is winding down, – like us, it’s getting old, and, entering this year of grace, its unknown pathways we can face,

Rapture eyes above the plunge of shear cliff

Paul stares out of the small round window, watching the ground move from under them. As the plane descends, the cities and towns grow nearer and clearer through the translucent clouds.

most people trouncing round the empire walk with a sense of respect built by the accumulation of things, built by the constant reassertion of one’s personality publicly,