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And what are we but dreamers in the ever waking dream, to make our way thru the turbulant water and rising currents of air. Is the dream not but that of it's own dream wakig into realization and the dreamer meakly another dream waiting to awaken. Is naught but the caste of tides a passing of time and the anchor that in the little moments of which we hold dear to keep us from straying to far from out course that is not yet plotted. Are we but the simple candle flames in the distance to lead home the lost souls that have yet come forth into the waing dream with realizations of the illusion of a reality.What simple tidings can aid them on thier way and what words of encoragement can we the seer of dreamers give us many that are few. To what end d owe wander the seas like sirens t call forth the ship from the shores and we muses of whom inspire tales. Is that but our purpose or duty in this life we call the waking dream, is purpose and duty those of words where honor lies in dayslong spent after the ashes have long cooled and the remants of fires faded like flame licked photographs of memories once born.