Cracking;

...The Dragon of words is an odd one. Some days She will not grab no matter how you beg. Others, She would kill in Her need to be written before setting you free - but on the really dangerous and magical days - the rare days - you can not write. Nothing you would say matters - intended words of light giving way to darknesses you did not know where there; each time you hold the pen all disappears except Her roar in your ears. These are Her words; not mine.

Cracking;

Funny
you know - the numbers
of those that come,
and go - the ones never
wanted often staying
longest, those
we would never
lose?

Too often
the first to fade.
And one man, by nature,
by mind, by fate and by
design and by body

draws

friends
like flies; the good,
the bad, and those
in-between - all
meaning well.

Superficially
at first -> only later
seeing, wanting, taking,
getting more.

The man
who collects acquaintance
and contact
as the summer horse
draws the flies - that man
pushes, constantly
raising,
building,
reinforcing the hurdles
to keep the mundane
and average
out - that
is the man who holds
tightest to those few
he would let through.

Holds tight, too tight
and they slip
through - holding light
finding air
in the end - nothing
more.

Holds on
tightly - cannot
let go lightly.

_{(2010-11-10 23.58)}