I was and am an after thought.
A languid sentinel sent by the Eastern Wind.
Let me tell you of spices and horse shoe accolades.
Exotic things that bend the mind.
The wheat grass is sweet..
Here, try this..
The great perimeter of perceptions break a second dawn in midday May.
Why are you running?
Freedom?
Fear?
Those nights on your back while white knuckling both sides of your bed hoping this time you don't float away become more and more frequent.
Well maybe for a reason!
The Wind is an esoteric whisper.
If you can bear to listen and tune to the shimmer shaking of space time making,
Perhaps it would bring new life to you...
Or, perhaps grandiose illusions..
Either way,
I once saw a prophet turn to paper profit.
*Magic tricks to be sure.