Someday I no longer shall search
The night for a trace of the Sun
For on some morning,
When the hours hatch their hope,
My heart shall consummate its patience and
Coalesced our love shall bloom casting
Us both into a frame...
Then this Sun, our Sun, will stand still unwearied by
The cold sweats of the sky.
Words are often more volatile than voices, unsaid they promptly drift away and many times eternally lost. This is a diary where words are condensed into printable voice. In this form they are saved. If you enjoy them I am grateful; if you disagree and criticize, then I'm fulfilled that I have written something perhaps unique to only me. You are welcome to my page.
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