Heaven is dark between two twenty twenties, watching lights mixing and flying while keys of triton cry an old yet new familiar hymn.
In trying times refuge here can be found.
Absorbing the forces of solitude, universally leaves an outward appearance of secluded helplessness.
Ideas are emancipated for the inspectors of the world.
Still, lights glisten to ambitions soaring!
The peace of the predicament leaves a vulnerability. However, peace allows the cries stuck between ears the chance to shed the reverb of their confinement.
The articulation is subjugated to true reviewers under the influence of intense meditation.
Finding philosophy is pure.
Truth is pure, but even in its decisiveness is still subject to interpretation. So, just be still and allow your faith overcome your fears.
By Barnard the Barber (September 23, 2001)
