Some might say that we lost a battle. Some may even claim that we are held prisoners inside an asphalt womb. Alone and stark, like a barren wasteland, forgotten by God's absolution... and Man's retribution. People will come and say that our leap of faith was left suspended over an ocean of everlasting perdition. I can feel it... sometimes while i sleep. Echoes of clustered laments, scorched inside the husk of a time capsule, buried in a crack of space that never existed. Our loves and despairs, never occurred. Our cries and our laughters, never heard. Our words of redemption, never uttered. Our deeds of gracious atonement, never flourished. Men may come and go, some may linger, while others pass by in hasty frenzy. And as the new dawn will be engraving its bloody scratch inside the loins of an untainted Earth, we will meet again. To be new. To be whole. To be young.
And in Life's gingery flint, we will burn with Love... again.
Courtesy of ©nikgml
And in Life's gingery flint, we will burn with Love... again.
Courtesy of ©nikgml
Original artwork: "serenade for abyss", by shamanski
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