These lines of separation are a testament to that temptation which can be scared or blurred with no exaltation... When time comes full stop and thoughts become filled with an ever present name upon waiting lips the pain of awakening makes real all terms broken within eternities wordless deal. A moment of such stillness gives worth to the deepest sense of darkened reflection. Perhaps it is the invisible touch of fingers. Soulless meanings. An overlapped sense of being in whatever state comes to the mind. But in that scripted liturgy the eyes of damnation and rebirth meet. No tale is to come forth to the minds of such blind anticipatory spectators. Let such dreams sit on unforgiven tongues. That which burns upon those pages left behind when all life extinguishes will be epic in form. Grandiose in nature, to some. The terrible pages of a soul which no one will read with cleared consciousness and untainted sight. Piteous is that sensation which falls upon the heads of those who can not see. As author confusingly walks into a trickery of light. Alone we began and alone we always are. And such waste is that part of man which can and will be nothing of what it