When the world has passed away I remember a devotion of Spirit that speaks gently. These desolate cities, the love that is missing, the triumph and beauty. What they meant to you they always meant to me. The spirit is alive in me trying to escape mortal destiny by revealing every dream conceived possibility. The greenest field and the buzzing bee.
A sunlit sky as new day dawns.
I scratch at myself. Getting out of bed I yawn.
Think more dramatic thoughts. Tell me the temptation you fought. What tore you down has built me up. Just different measures in different cups.
