The Railroad

Searching for that vibe, energy, IT, the will as life begins to slowly shift into gear, one puzzle at time, piece by piece with precision of a welder. Yesterday it isn’t but tomorrow it will with old habits lingering still, reconstructing we are, with new set of wills in toe. Some souls have rebranded, transformed, molded into their perfect beings but others, right back at yeah is being served on the platter, untapped water, menu of the corroded restaurant left untouched by the tornado, as many failed to grasp the route of the ride they are on. Monday grove mood it is, riding the boat parade of the week railroad we are on, a meeting of the minds carted in a scribbled murky piece of wood, still yet to be tamed.

© Angela Aguiar

Frozen Ride

The banjo temporarily froze his ride. The sonata camouflaged in the handsome notes rimmed pitilessly, creating whimsical melodies he so desperately wanted to defuse. Carbon paper of disgusted impunity, he insanely believed the transgression fitted the punishment. The fellow renegade broke with tradition and feverishly pondered in the corridor of what could be, rerouting his path to adopting tomorrow wise choices.
©️Angela Aguiar