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What sweet holdings in the monitudes of fate caste forth upon the whispering billows. Crystalyn blanket to cover the ground in a soundlessness deafening into this silence. A place where the memories of the past echo and the sweet holdings of a year long past hold fast thier resolve of courtships. Slower now the days and weeks, slower now the time concieds in the silence of the thoughts reborn. The colours fade to black on white and grey inbetween but the crystal clear vision of colours is pronounced. The cold embrace like ablanket of security to wrap about the heart in it's slumber and the waking dreams have been set aside for the dawning of a new age brought forth to shake the remenance of silken chains form thier wings to take flight. Sweet holdings this monitude of laying to rest for a time in the flight of the heavens when the muse cometh forth to take thy hand and lead thee down a path of such things so wonderious the ink to paper is renewed and the passions spring forth to ignite the skies in thier fiery dance, leaving behind the benchmark upon that paper of thier travels and the unfinished works of a year once begun come to a conclusion in the final months held fast in the heart of the traveler on a cold wintery evening.
 Delemonico · Thu Dec 11, 2008 @ 07:19pm · 0 Comments |
