through the morning mist they materialise silent sentinels that seem to rise drawing hope from we who understand the key of breath the belief of man without their presence where would we be our greed will **** us long live the tree
a wrinkled monument to a well abused past held aloft for posterity glowing in the dashboard of eternity pointing to the ethereal glow as the net is cast
Trespassing in the wake of hope I rise to the challenge of looking for optimism in all aspects of drama To feel charged is preferable to being drained What's the worst that could happen apart from the already inevitable
by the morning the waters had receded to reveal new horizons the surface of a different world but this was no sea of tranquility more a reflection of a barren future