Claiming temporal indifference is safer than exuding temporal ignorance. Knowledge eminating from first breaths drawn while standing from the water-borne clay and congealed substance writes the script for humanity. Providing a dual reality for all inhabitants. Take a position. Norm or casted.

     Another casted stands dejected by yet another norm. One who's beauty brings short-lived moments in continual loops within ever-thinking torture.

     Life as a casted seems unfair. Brought into the world with the ego of a Titan, and, unfortunately, with it, thier curses. Just as Sisyphus fails to reach the top, a casted is embedded with a self-destructive mode of the mind. When excellence and well being are in grasp a destructive, emotional flail is immediate and swift. An epileptic hurricane of sorts.

     This is the fate of some. Walking among the norms. Unassuming and lost to even the keenest of eye. In addition, an even greater jest from nature, is that the affliction is unknown to most casted.

     Marcus and Tanya met on the ground level of the unknown battle. Tanya, being a norm, left a trail in life that would fit most expectations. A good car. Loving family. A steady job. A savings account only acheived by the abilities of a norm.

     Marcus was an aware casted. Fully knowledgeable of his un-poetic path in life. Burnt bridges. Apprehensive family. A cascade of failed employment. And, at most times, a negative balance with any bank or creditor.

     Nature, in a playful mood, set forth the spark of interest in the mind of Tanya. Marcus, fully resolved to solitude was enticed by the engorging excitement of possibilities. Both internally and externally.

     Tanya was a manicured beauty. When she first spoke in a flirtatious manner he thought she was grasping for pleasure within some monotonous time frame of her life. Minor excitement. Cheap thrills.

     She reached to Marcus. Perhaps she saw sustenance behind his teary and red-speckled vision. A worth. A value. Esteemed qualities.

     Only too alive for words, he reached for her hands to hold. To kiss. To welcome. To cherish. To treasure. His eyes closed, he set his lips upon the flesh of her hands. A flash of cold generated the impulse to view the evidence of his immediate sense of doom. Before him, within his hands, were the still, inanimate plastic hands of reality. No body. No beautiful face staring back with endearing green eyes.

     The leaves flutter syllables I am unable to ascertain. Speaking from distances across time. The pattern, its splendorous-foliage-speak traipses over auditory functions to shed light for blinded perceptions. To bring forth in reality knowledge of future effect for past cause. Cast off doubt. Restore order. Bring peace. Deject all forlorn. Bring semblance among un-assembled souls.

      My leaves scale to abundance touching the air just below other voiceful entities. The wind brings forth the messages encoded. Encoded deep. Beyond its known recesses. Beyond atomic structure. The quarks. The strings. Beyond ordered chaos. Beyond all restrained assumptions both scientific and philosophic.

      But, alas, my stock was dropped as a sapling. Riddled before the world. Forever in-exact and nonsensical. Draped and invalidic they still remain mine to bear and love. My special interpreters. My retarded leaves.

“The castles made of sand slip into the sea… eventually.” – Jimi Hendrix

          In youth one only worried about the now. With everything taken care of why not? The future was the future. Some unfathomable "out there", some "down-the-road" world of time that was never brought to thought. Today was today and that was that.

         One ran out onto the playgrounds and empty fields in an explosion beleived to be the energy within attempting to bust through and take off. If freed, the energy would go on to explore the any and all. Leaving them behind. Alone. The rest of the consciousness frightened of the possibility the physical pushes harder to match the internal strife to dilute its escape velocity.

          The youthful company running alongside comes slowly to perception offering an anchor for the indwelt conflict. Feeling at ease, one begins to settle in upon the activities surrounding them. Whatever game with whoever was around. Kicking, swinging to exhaust all capacities in hopes to make it back before dark for dinner, both realms of humanity intact finally making it to the cartoon-sheet clad bed unseparated. Together. Composed. Genial.

          Tomorrow would come. But, today was conquered.

      There appears to be no moon tonight in Small Town, Tennesse. While scanning the skies for my moon-buddy and dragon-shaped clouds, I stand in front of my room for the night remembering the look in your eyes our last evening together. The change of mind, your decision comming to obvious fruition, passion fading, an anxiousness to leave. You were ready to forget current time and escape to create new memories. The sweet music faded and with it my heart was broken.

      Your beauty, your talk, your dreams, desires and intoxicating prescence flighting to take stance with the other walker-by. Another occupent in a vehicle on any given highway. Another passenger upon a plane destined for wherever. A stance of a long gone soul who's dreams will cast vision upon some other soul's future.

      Where you will go, whom you'll make happy, why you will laugh, what you will say next or where you will make shadows upon some new, undiscovered, for-your-eyes-only piece of the world I will never know.

      You join the past memories left only to me. A non-tangible, but no less alive place deep within. Wading within these shallow waters alone. Hope fading untouched. Dredging the waters stage left. Lights fading. End of scene.