How long can the twilight sing my lonely song. Grassy knoll of elder's yore leads me to a faithful conclusion. I belong to this place and the daunting tasks being shone in the cosmic letters of life tell truths that briefly show Truth.
The waves of nothing that plague my liberation are but temporary statuses in the self-evolving existence of the 'morrow. Besides, I smell the fresh grass beneath my worn feet and blush with joyous nostalgia. The entire universe is dancing, and I have the privilege of witnessing an event.
The expanse nature of this field of time drums on with the drunkards philosophy: the politicians agenda. If their promise is not withheld than it is empty. The air is filled with the treason of thoughts. Blasphemy repents; Now is here.
Take my hand. Our life's too short to be caught up in eternity. Open hearts can reflect our time. Embrace existence. Live while there's still life. Don't let the 'morrow cast a shadow upon all hope. Remember: home is not just a ghost.
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