As I leap fom the bounds of wake, and wanton lies. In the sea of desperation awaiting forever dreams. There is a fountain of shallow seas, drifting ever through the arc of time and life asunder. Though I walk not in time forsaken, I drink of the wonders in my eyes. Speak, and hear spiraling fortitude, or naught but sentient rambling. In as wonders, carelessly strewn from a heart of terror; maybe I seek another. I have no answer, for I seek no question. In the dawn, in the winding path, in the prism, in the valley, the stone of contemplation sites.

Why, or why not, or wherever it has gone. A wonder awake, but forget of none. Beyond seasons of wind, of scale, of chronos. The blur of the scale is lost, and so too is the path of I.

Wait, and sense eternity.

For It Takes Me