Edges once sharp now fade,
the shadow of details
from a scene recede,
and the high tide of sleep
ripples over dark eyes
as the sloth drifts
through blue veins
covering muscles
and tying down limbs;
gravity's concern
suddenly noticeable
and suddenly strong.
Fantasy overtakes
reason's talk,
grips slacken
and the heart's beat
loudly balks;
blood now becomes
a lazy river.
Air pours freshly
into porous lungs,
widening and rising to meet
the heart's march.
Slumber filters thickly
the imaginations
and encloses
the world around;
places fade too far to touch,
people and sound
come and go
in the story line
of a drowsy mind.

About This Place . . .

There are many blogs in this vast digital library of our time. So I should probably let you know what to expect here; why this blog exists, what I plan on talking about...


I shall start with the title I have given this place.


The Life Like Story, that title, will provide you with most of the information that you will need to know about this blog. I picked that title out of my fondness for literature, the incorporation of that wonderful art into my life and from the view that life is like a story; each person a character in a long running epic, each scene, each action that goes on, part of a larger plot. 


So, you see, the title is different from the way those words are most often used. It is not in the manner of a story being life-like but, rather, life being like a story.


Though, be not mistaken that I am here only to go on about books and the work of words! No, oh no. That is but one piece of this puzzle. This place will also be the mouthpiece for observations on the little-seen scenes; those cascades of voices, those fragile but endlessly tangling threads of plot, actions and people each seen in the mind of a writer throughout the production that is known as life.


I have often wondered if maybe this life is the life of a story; that maybe this has all been written. 


That wonder is why this is here, and that is really why I am here.