To be the poems sung, the verses lived, the heart wanted and the love begotten. 🖤 > 🧠• Lord Master of the 👅 • 😻 Worshipper.
With wicked—then wrecked—weeping heart seeking any sign of hope and withered faith, I throw an ear to see if that scent of mirth that now and again soothes the gloom, would be able to break through the fabric of time and space, and so let me be the reason that, you, oh Muse of Bleeding Suns and Swollen Moons, smiles—if only for a little while…
The night is young and full of wonder and ever time is of the essence…