Over in the eleventh hour

This one has come all the way from the whisper factory and doesn't have an expiry date, but did go down well in the coffee house...

Temporarily, over in the eleventh hour a whole lot was going down that couldn’t be explained, nevertheless, Sam the soapbox was giving it a go and blasting it out for everyone to hear.

Incandescence and not-here-or-you-will-be-towed-away were getting in on the act and selling ice-cream and matches respectively and were doing quite well considering, if one were to consider anything at all.

Enlightenment for a penny was in a daze and couldn’t make head or tail of the proceedings and was beginning to get under everyone’s feet.

Not-a-spot-of-rain took out his megaphone and shouted: “Today will be sunny.” And then carried on with what he was doing before.

Everyone looked at him and then spoke among themselves his wise words of wisdom. One plagiarist wrote them down to sell in the market place later but found a monk staring at him so had to go hide fast.

So, all in all there was a whole lot going on; the buzz was it was all explainable in some way and yet going around in circles at the same time, although Sam was doing his best up on his soap box to say something different but in all the noise no one heard him so he gave it up and said to Molly: "Let's go." And that’s when they both jumped on their land-boat and off they went.

But It’s a long way to anywhere when nowhere is all around you and then some between the sheets of an indeterminate temperament that’s overly lazy and sleeps too much in a bed that has no dreams, and waking up is not much of an option either to a soul caught in these doldrums, and neither is a kick up the bum give or take a year or two in the making so stare into the centre of this to dream away, said the advertisement in neon.

Coffee may lubricate one or five brain cells to vibrate at a higher meaning and perhaps transmute a couple more to the cause but the revolution can only fizzle out through lack of direction and no substantive cognition from the rest of the grey stuff give or take a half open shift in the paradigm that yawns and goes back to sleep, and with such uninspired action the prognosis can only be an indeterminate decision of listlessness until or unless a miracle comes along to change everything for the better.

“Amen,” said God bless the queen. “Hear-hear,” said the old railway track. “Vive-la-revolution,” said the last brain cell alive.

The puppy wagged its tail, a newcomer on the scene and practically invisible for all intents and purposes.

And that's all for today folks...

Image from Pixabay