I am of an age that is ageless, the very essence
that lingers somewhere between shadow and light;
that indescribable grey matter separating all that
aligns itself with black from all that derives its purity
from white. I am the illusive thread tying together
the journey, the twisting and twirling of cloths weaving
together past, present and briefly imagined futures.
I am the force between that barely dreamt dream
of what will be and that longing, lodged in the memory,
that leaves logic out to recall that single magical moment
from that day, long ago lived. That room in the mind
that holds so tightly to that taste once passed over lips,
ripe for the tasting, I am the emphasis of purity
in the remembrance of that very taste. All else,
long since, fallen by the wayside or lost out amid
the uncertainty of what’s remembered and what’s real.
I am the playfulness of the light you see cast bright
on your tall towers with their windows onto the world.
I am the linear contrast of urban lines, rising sharp
and structured amid the chaos. I am the smooth sleekness
untwining myself from a frivolous mess. I am
the seduction salvaged from the superfluous. I am
the impression left on the skin long after I’ve parted,
the mark of what once was, what is and what will be.
I am what makes the melancholy magical, every mood
a melody; the manufacturer of the moments the mind
will muster. I am the lines that will lead you on, latitudes
to rise upon and longitudes to fill your form. I am a city,
seen from above, with straights of sky-scraping streets;
lean lines, lengthy and lasting, marching triumphantly
forward as if to herald one’s rise out of confusing chaos
and stake your claim to stand above, alone, assured
and reassured, calm and confident, always exceptional,
occasionally eccentric, uniquely independent and always
individual. Modern made from a blend of what is
both memory and what has yet to be. I am everything
you put on to be who you are. Yesterday you dreamt
of me, tomorrow you’ll remember me, today, you are me.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly.

This is a Repost.



I’m flying though time,
drawing on daylight
to the west of me
while in the east
darkness descends,
the light already shadow,
the sun already set
but here, by the heavens,
there is only more and more
light, a day without dusk,
a journey without ending
yet I am not ageless.

I’m flying through time,
drawing on daylight
that rests with me
as west takes east,
courting cotton clouds
that blow through blues,
couriers of careful candy
we cut through curiously
and climb upon cautiously
as altitude tests turbulence
while I know nothing is certain
and I am not ageless.

I’m flying through time, 
gaining hours on hours, 
unending light from the sun
teasing, while the moon
is missing from movement,
I’ve seen sky slide into sea
seamlessly caressing currents,
I’ve seen sinking sands seep
from salt spits and dissolve,
to rise and shine and die,
while I chase the sun
but I am not ageless.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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