January 20, 2007
The forgotten, as I pursue
What is forgotten? A piece of rock in the mountain, a piece of me. The country road winds itself, but I walk it. Is it really no hope because my eyes are blinded from the melting green of life? My face is burried in mud but I walk on. I know not what is written in the last pages, but roads of guidance crawl out and lead me by the hand.
I walk on, though I have forgotten. I sing my song, though I know lyrics no more. Though I bathe in slime and my mother’s blood, I am craddled in the gossamer of fairy wings. It is in the pursuit of what is forgotten, it is in the singsong of what is almost unknown I take my first step, and the next, and then the next.
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