Secrets from our British Dreams.

A WORK IN PROGRESS…

My mind is a voyager in the infinite emptiness of Space. My memories are straining constellations, unreachable, fading vibrant systems. Time creeps in petty pace, stretches the distance.

A beautiful super nova, I warmly recall a nation in mid-metamorphosis. Aspirants, drawing from all our yesterdays; stewards of a general air of malaise. Cawing, “Who are we?”

I pass sound and fury, signifying nothing. I pass quietly.