The musings of a writer's churning brain through ink-stained fingers. Nothing quite beats inky pens and paper yet.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Lit
Today I lit a candle and let its small light lift a prayer from my soul to His.
There's a dream in me that won't die. Regardless of what I do, or what happens or doesn't (as the case may be); the dream persists.
It tugs me to wake when I want to sleep and to think when I crave silence.
It makes my breath short and trapped with a bursting imagination and no magic to make it live.
This dream has been, as long as the sun has shone from the heavenlies.
I don't know if my candle will avail much bar comfort me with its fragile, little light.
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