Living in the light of burdens astride the great heavy dull. Wherein masks diverged from faces plant themselves in history's embrace. And sing-song nature's revel in the deep and wide of the world; it spewing fodder for men of the fullest persuasion. Light me amid these dark moments that I might know fear and, in so doing, feel the pain of finitude that is every person's fate to feel.
Under the weight of the prolonged rests the peaceful disintegration of a name. What is your hope? It is feeling, oozing past reality to where experience suffers spasmodic fits. It is the long and sullen attaining critical mass. (The belief that) with a push from the other side, the anguish disperses and comes relief. Maybe this is where you find it. In the remembering. In the soothing. To mean, to suffer -- sister soldiers of internal discourse. To verily believe the unbelievable.