1.18.2007
As Promised
It is that last minute before my eye lids are finally closing. And though my face is saying good night to the world, the patron guard sleeping inside is just starting to come around. He rises - almost not -like the trapped soul of a Roman god in a bitter winter, lightly humming songs of hail for the near and far alike. But when he is finally fully awaken and perked up, the shock of unfamiliar wind sends a shiver down his olden spine. From corner to corner he flies asking the greater might for the places he belonged. They tell him times have passed and his old house is now gone and past. That he ought to – to live to tell the tale– take on the new gates glaring ahead. And that whatever he’s foreseen before falling asleep a decade ago, is till there to be found if he keeps striding on. That spring, with its misty flora and undergrowth, shrubbery and plants. Is expecting with great faith, the seed of chance I am carrying around.
Goodbye, my
friend.
11:17 AM
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11:17 AM
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