My burning core the center of me where my ancient origin infused in the seeds that bare life and carry in them death and the virtue of both is very much attached to my right hand. If I do not write I am sure to spontaneously combust. I have to tell you about my life taken by death. My love slipping away while I watched broken heartedly cemented into a wailing wall, unable do anything. Tearing at the celestial curtain, pleading for light. Then, slowly excepting and letting go, that yes, even death...even death can become painfully beautiful.
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 03:17:32 +0000
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