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cold air pins earth to her floor where strained walls of aged, stone-stained lore adorn a wide range of frayed neutral tones devoid of the affliction light would impose. is it just me cursed with the endeavor of curing the silence that steals so many from sleep? it can't just be me left all alone to be held captive by this darkness, this reign of still air. why is it that the blind don't feel the sweeping servility of this fear? perhaps the dulling of one sense leads to the re-fining of yet another. and then there's these voices that slide through my head as does a dagger among silk threads, splicing the cohesion that so evenly binds us all to the dead. do they really only speak through memories, prophecies and dreams? oh those restless nights, oh those nauseating condolences offered by immense star-filled skies. I see forever in those nights and find comfort sewn to the split of my tongue. don't let this scare you, for nothing can haunt you until nothing is gone. how hollow a sketch of meaning drawn forth and frill. penned out in perfection but permanently still- standing to prove like those half-logic based sophisms many use when defining the naturally untried, divinity of "truth". words make me weak such as scars torture beauty, yet niether nurture this feast quite like the fury of some old poem's offering of age buried wisdom and conceit , "to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." From Letras Mania