Sighted in the wounded realms of fear where pain and purpose are co-conspirators. In Life, and cause we dwell too long, dreaming that someone else determines fate and length of song. For hope’s good work we look inside knowing that some things will escape our reason. In demolition’s quest we reconstruct the altars of our own volition and surrender.

This is not moral turpitude. We seek the space between the worlds, where we may play and have things matter in consequence. But unlike interpretation, steel leaves a mark having touched the skin with the inescapable fact. Scarring, lesion or dismembering especially in thought so little may be known without intention and action. We have always been products.

Into outcomes I investigate the source. Upon which set of calamities am I transfixed. What will the sovereign breath of stars awaken in this dying heart? Will there be freedom from allegiance, vow or promises made or kept? Alone upon ridge line feared, staring into the valley and abyss, precariously perched upon the realization of time’s requirement. With light and pitch we approach the dawn of random affect.

Holding him in stitches we masked the keys and symbols of our export. We gave and took but shan’t forsake the sound chimes in navigation. Up to the island we moor, seeking entry unannounced and egress without pursuit. Slipping free from sheath we loose the hounds of man’s startled heart. Panicked paddling and darkened surf we most fear the things we know were never seen.

What now my Lord? In patient breath I wait upon the signs of sound and searching. This is no brilliance of gifted glade, nor blades so sharp that even gravity fears incision. To lacerate the definition of life’s direction we cry out for healing, hope and fall upon the steps leading to the throne. Only to find ourselves alone with random voices pleading we fear and run or dance. For there is no council in false offering.

These are the days of wondrous repair. Erected in monumental to selves of passing. We are only limited by the freedom we accept, the air we breathe so freely. Discomfort. The lurch of passing from here to there and places never pictured in the reviewed brochure. Understanding most often located outside the closet of comforting emotion. Into dark things and imperfect thoughts, we sift knowing fully that the end will be unpleasant.

Relief and escape are located on the other side of easy. Yet fate would say that through difficulty the possible is born. Into the arms of adult fealty, we are injected into the hopeful realities of maturity and faith. Dedication to anything reveals the paths less ventured. Perfection in a quiet place where honing and shaping erected the polishing work of time.