Black and White photographs, blood of millions of colors splattered and bleeding upon the images.
Was life ever truly black and white, could it ever have been so simple and so clear?
Hues splatter, like the stars on a clear moonless evening complicating the finite nature of the human mind.
Tommy he walks his German shepherd as the first snow begins to float down. He is smoking a cigarette that will kill him one day and he knows it, he inhales and exhales. Tugs on the leash and heads back home.
Wendy is staring out her bedroom window over contemplating the contrast, brightness and the tone of this postcard she is watching unfold. She smiles, pulls the shade and lies back in bed, under cover, safe from the chill, but not from the images she dreams of.
Me, I walk upon the sands of Coney Island watching the waves in front of me, ebbing and flowing, flowing strong, then ebbing slowly as if in shame, in defeat.
The old teacher told me once that, “life does not consist of any sure things, just a group of hopes, wants and needs. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose and even those results are never quite clear.”
I know the answers, sir, I know life’s truths. I just need some waves of success to come to me now. Been chasing for too long, bent out of shape and rusted. Where does this train take me, will it show me the way?
“Be true to who you are and all will fall into place.”
In the distance a baby is crying and I can sense the tidal wave coming.
“Life happens and the answers will come in their time.”