They come from nowhere, to nowhere they return. As they travel they glow, they dance, they smile, they tumble and twist but go they do. They, the souls on their eternal journey from the unknown to the unknown. Briefly they can see each other through the veils of mysterious fogs, they whisper words of amazement, of enchantment, and they go along. "Hi," they say in passing. They turn around for one last look before the darkness welcomes them back into its rich bosom, but it is no more. They reach, they stretch, they strain, they call, they sing one last adagio and they go. As they go, they leave a trace, a small, weak trace of their golden, shimmering dust, colors of all sorts, glistening, suspended in the vacuum of reality, like the trails should be. "I was here," they say. Can anyone hear them? Those souls of ours. And go they do.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
The road from the top
The road from the top is always down. The road from anywhere else is your choice - could be down, could be up, could stay leveled! Where do you want to go?
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