what drifts between the mired lines of fate and dreams sets free the sorrowed wakening of the harrowed heart.

in cold rapture, time stands still with every word exposed and seen through touching, gazing eyes

each moment gone before begets the forward, eternal march unto dawn

the good bestows lawful effortless bounty of what was always meant to be

two hearts beckon upon each other in torment and rapture, anxiously seething one another

patience values the faithful wrought with time and humbleness