The Void


There is that which can not be understood; a sharply defined realm of the unknown, our minds touch upon this secret only fleetingly. In a moment of self reflection and lucidity, there can only be silence of the soul. When the mind is free from any shadows of fear or lingering nightmare; then and only then can this be explored.

The key turns slowly in the lock.

The gate slides open to frigid darkness and vibrant color; pigments of very thought. My heart leaps in my throat choking away the consciousness. With timid, and faltering steps I cross the threshold to enter the silent chamber. Give me a way to capture this essence of life and return it to this world of horror and shame.

I shall shiver away the curtain of darkness that enshrouds our world, I will copy the keys and give them to all the gatekeepers and charge them to let all pass who desire entrance. When the last of our mindless shades have passed forever from the torrid darkness and into the color of thought; the gates will be shut fast, and the keys all melted down to nothing, and this realm returned to desolation with only myself: a lone sacrifice.

Guarding the void from habitation.

-Ezra Hilyer-

Time Thief.

Darkness beneath the trees; twilight falls slowly down to the mossy leaf strewn earth, while I wait hidden between the dark void of the sky, and the sharp eyes of my pursuers, I keep my breath low and patient, my gaze even and wary. Time crawls across my rifle barrel and drips from my lips. It is the only real currency in this old world, it is the only thing we have to spend. Your time can be wasted away, or given away, bartered away, and taken away.

Movement crests the ridge below, and two men push their shoulders up against the deepening sky, moving silently into view like small black beetles crawling over a branch… They are looking for me.
They have been found.
Crosshairs divide features from darkness, silence from an echoing report. Unspent time… Unspent time.


Dreary Winter


Now in the midst of dreary winter, while the hills wear their white mantles, I sense a withering of will, and a drying up of muscle. When buds burst into leaves, I also break out in motion, powering against the rusted pedals, to rush down that path of leaves; rustling. .

Wintry winds tear at my coat, seek to reach my guarded soul, And follow me into my bungalow to snuff out my little flame. When Summer, oh summer, comes, I shall ride the streets of sun, catch the warm rays upon my back, spreading a glow through my winter shrunken frame.

-Ezra Hilyer

Of Pens And The Subconscious.


Several years ago, I purchased a yellow Lamy Safari with an EF nib. I used it constantly, and carried it with me just about everywhere. I would fill out my paperwork at work with it, and use it on my Moleskine.
In any case, it went missing last spring, and I had to switch to another daily pen. I missed it, but kept hoping to find it, and so I never replaced it..

Fast forward to last week: I was cleaning out my closet and found a sweatshirt that I hadn’t worn in a while, so I decided to wear it that day. I had it on when I suddenly thought about my missing pen, and decided to order a replacement. I went on Jetpens, and ordered a white Lamy to replace my lost yellow one.

Didn’t think a thing about it until that evening when I went to take the shirt off, and guess what I found in the pocket? My missing yellow pen.

I have been wondering since: if my subconscious was trying to tell me that my pen was in that sweatshirt, and I misunderstood and just took it as a chance to replace it? I mean somewhere deep in my brain I must have known that I left the pen in the pocket, and so that bubbled up into my consciousness somehow….

In any case, I decided to not cancel the order since I really will lose the pen again at some point, and the white looks so good on my iPad after all……..



There is a light in your eyes; I can not explain its source.

Perhaps you can; has there ever been a moment that held you in sway? When you scarce could bear to move lest you break the sweet spell of silence. What ever it was that triggered that spark of thought/feeling I do not know for it will be different to each soul, but it must be there.

Have you ever stopped in sorrow for a sight that passed something that triggered one small buried memory perhaps? Has ever your heart jumped a beat for one second of pure joy? Sometimes upon waking from a sweet dream of peace I ponder what the future may hold.

Can the hope and joy of being content and whole that seems so close within a sleeping dream come into reality? And could the whole of your existence be worth that short sweet moment?


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