I am a man of no fame, no claim, no name, an average sinner, absent glory
a few seconds of rustling bustle.
did you ever write poetry?
once. but everything of earthly substance, destined to fade into the ignominy of forgotten vaults, where time takes it time and erodes all into dust.
here, every word preserved. there is no time in the dominion of creators, and you are friend are numbered in their midst, enshrined in many hearts and eyes, and with every reading, each reimagination, you are a reincarnated being.