To the empty space in wind I shout. I hear nothing returned, I am lost, I listen some more, the pain of nothing returns. I am with voices sealed in my head and vivid sight. Special days, just one part of it would bare the fruits of fine thoughts. For those I care for, but the wind returns I hear hardly anything but the clack of Canada Geese going home, or dry leaves of autumn drying dead and shedding down, then once more no voice’s we are alone.
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Author: Mason Cult Poet
Mason Cult Poet was born in Westmorland in the Lake District in a farming engineering community. On one side of the family many portions of nobility mainly the Stuarts. Mason Cult did as the herd does and went through the education process. attended drama school and ran small businesses. The stigma of mental health issues blighted him as it does with all creative people, was diagnosed in 2011 with a form of Asperger’s Syndrome which can impair executive function however it has given him a higher sense to see what others do not and from this ability he concludes the world is controlled by esoteric forces and that other interventions operate steering the world we know ro a new beginning..
What we witness we are forced to challenge and the work of Mason Cult assists this
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