Monday, October 03, 2005

To the Wits End, and Back Again

The true colours of your blue skies are the black of night, and the endless stars.

Expect no love from this uncaring planet, but give love rather, as a gift unwanted.

Time itself is a slayer and a maker, the ender and the bender and the breaker.

Change is a constant, in four seasons of change, itself never the same.

One is strong, but weak to the many, which are weak to the one and strong in the many.

The tree is ageless within your mind, for it bore no fruit until you lay under its boughs.

I am to you as the wind to a mountain. There, but not felt, nor seen, nor heard.

The depths of the ocean covet the heights of the sky.

The end is but a trite beginning among beginnings and ends of beginnings.

Fear nothing, for you are something to be feared.

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