The stars stare back, blinking their unceasing eyes. The willow to my fore blows gently in the late summer breeze amidst a backdrop of a bright full moon. These, my own, pauperous eyes will soon close only to open on a new day. As I do close these eyes, my thoughts are stolen to where is this half to complete the whole? What sunsets has it to tell of? Tale is told of the two who returned once one. The twain is for benefit of man that more may be healed. But what good am I if longing for the whole?
Sunday, September 11, 2011
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