ofenchant's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- makeness
Two thousand words later, we're not speaking. Like a word perfect after word perfect the perfect sentence makes. Makes the perfect sense and everybody understands the gist with which perfection words a perfect truth. Words which cascade like leaves fallen words which flow as a river from the mouth of my mind. The girl is not of old today she makes the stars and moon shine duller than the days before. Indefinite the maker of today's undying skeptical, believer of all magickal ... pretender of the ways (in which she sees herself in sunlight and glory mystical). There are beings who transcend the physical world in which reality latches. They come in dreams and prayers and are more real than life itself. That voice speaks soft, relentlessly once more. What do you want? As though I am not happy. What are you afraid of? Were I alone ... Husband boy is all the world in quiet delight and splendid sentiment. This boy is all I have to know that I am real and in love with the world again. In love with this boy. In love with his heart. In being here and wordless upon the paper shadows creep and slither, snakes are they in liquid weather. Soft, bruised flesh speaks of injuries she incurs daily. Father following the cardboard cutout instruction of his daily all his life, presented with my fire and might is washed away, never to return. I fear I am right, in being wrong. I've never had him all along. 6:50 p.m. - 2006-02-17 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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