Into what heart does this borrowed sorrow flow on wings of gosemer threads? Perhaps, or by chance of with like fairies of silken mist and sunshine. Hope yearns for gentler days and warmer nights. Times before now, yet built on the bones of past that depend in on the foundations of the future.
On which angels shoulds the knight for tomorrows past lay his throned crown of wiggling gesture and frozen face of half a smile and heart of new born babe. Forevermore trapped in a dissolving body if shame. Hark do the angels call my name or do devils wait to tear at my flesh for another thousand years… And yea do I walk in the valley of the shadow of death i shall fear no evil you tho arth with me. For me but childs verse written in parchment of stories told of men and that kept demons at bay and gave strength to a younger man than I…..The end.
“A life in progress.”