16 Nov 2004

White wind, tell me why we are as we are.

For I have traveled these two thousand roads and found only division, one from another, squandering these precious hours on argument alone.

Did I dream that you ever were, the voice of the deepness of the world, the genius that all who save anyone call upon, you that flies to the ends of the earth at the merest hint of grace faltering, at truth falling one footfall too short of these, we children of the light?

For I have traveled within myself most of all, and wondered at the places you brushed against my soul, indelible invisible your signature upon me.

White wind, tell me I may dream once more.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:08 am

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