the milky eye of years staring into the dark-

In the hall of faces
you have time to think,
but time doesn't know of
itself.
Flashs in the hall
Pools on the ceiling.
Where has it gone?,
this friend of mine...
who allows me
peace.

Time is infinite and
yet short. It folds
over on itself
like currents in the
sea.
A sea we swim in,
but some tire quick,
then kiss the bottom
and say goodnight.

---

     Lincoln Sward resides somewhere in the folds of everyone's brain. He is just a figment of the everyday man's or woman's imagination. It would be nice to say that he is the one who causes those flashes of brilliance within one's mind, but he is definitely not the Ego or the Id. What is the purpose of the Lincoln, and why has It sputtered out fragments of sentences and called it poetry, if that is even what you want to call it. I guess for the common good of mankind, or maybe to keep each and every one of us out of the Crisis Unit of the Psychiatric Ward, but what ever his reasons they are always for the perpetuation of the duality of life and the constant struggle between Good and Evil.