...A fuel-less flame is nothing but a wraith, However wrought, if unsustained by passion.
Mothers are the place that we call home. On them we rest our heads and close our eyes. There's no one else who grants the same soft peace, happiness, contentment, sweet release, erasing righttime tears with lullabies, restoring the bright sun that makes us bloom.
As spirits roam the neighborhoods at night, Let loose upon the Earth till it be light.
By day each soul must walk within its shadow. Only night can make us whole again.
Love of life at times requires death
Given angel's wings, where might you fly? In what sweet heaven might you find your love? Unwilling to be bound, where might you move, Lost between the wonder and the why?