Frantic. These Antics have got to stop. The mirror is clearer when viewed from the top. Away I go, only this and this I know: the Flowers have the power that we are looking for! Count the hours as they sour until the midnight moon has bore.....the dream that seems the same but in another name, in another Game....she smiles still she smiles real she is Calm Now by the illusion of Sunset Clean by the act of surrender. Where does the Shadow run to and where can it hide when the forces of Mind have locked it inside?
Mothers hands have been Cleansed she claims no piece she wants to be released.
Heathens! We have come from the far corners of this inevitable world we have come bearing Gifts we have come wearing Risks like the promises that sink beneath our skin neglected skin.....lethal doses of illusionary Sin.
Why have you forsaken me Master what have I failed you? Sweat and tears are only fears if you can waken to your Whys.
Peace has come To this lonely Heart Shaken from the Waking but she Always plays her part. Quietly she has come to you asking for your hand in Truth openly she has asked of you to bury her prayers beneath your wings and to be held by the heartstrings of your wonderings.
Wake up, to your Dreams and know that they are more than Seams …..a place to find your freedom find your Lore find and seed them from your Core without the separation without the preparation without the desperation we seem to find. Everywhere.