Too many blank, white pages for anyone’s liking sit in a binary pile. 2 by(te) 2.
Byte?
Marches of emptiness step to an uneven beat. Tales chasing tails, and nothing is done.
Hair knots and blood klots, but there is no end to the great deaths. We go on dying for centuries, martyrs for the cause of truth.
There’s a fire in our hearts, and a strong wind with our souls. Can we wake from the daze, and take a breath free from this choking, greedy haze?
The answer’s the key, but the ring is hard to find. It’s buried deep in a forest, under a desert, and washed by fresh salty streams. Our mental landscapes change, but what is real is always real, forged from the moon’s own silver.
Bridges and rivers of hope are at odds. We can’t possibly drink hope by standing above it. If we need hope then we need to give our all to it. Dive deep to the river bed and be hope. Hope.
Life is a song Earth sings as she sits in her bitter-sweet creation
Threads of love and webs of true caring become the cloaks of those gifted with luck. It’s only fate which connects.
“…so with halo in place, and my thankfulness pledged, my residence status in heaven was full-fledged…”