Come, sit and listen while I speak softly these words to you.....

Life is a gift that must be given back, and joy should arise from its possesion. It's too damned short and thats a fact. Hard to accept, this earthly procession to final darkness is a journey done, circle completed, work of art sublime, a sweet melodic rhyme, a battle won.

Torch

In the fields, a harvest sometimes comes far out of season, when we thought the world was old, and could see no earthly reason to rise for work at break of dawn, and put our muscles to the test. With winter here and autmn gone, it seems best to rest, to rest. But under winter fields so cold, wait the dormant seeds of seasons unborn, and so the heart does hold hope that heals all bitter lesions. In the fields of life, a harvest.

Torch

Death is no fearsome mystery. He is well known to me and thee. He hath no secrets he can keep to trouble any good mans sleep.


Turn not thy face from Death away. Care not he takes our breath away. Fear him not, he's not thy master, rushing at thee faster, faster. Not thy master but servant to the Maker of thee, what or Who created Death, created thee - and this is the only mystery.



-The Book of Counted Sorrows

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