wandering Blind in the floundering brine
salty sting of a seashore shine.
A universal killer will save you sometimes
with Ocean Power and light of Mind.

truth

What am I supposed to write of?
Shall I tell about the men of centuries past,
who searched relentlessly for the drop of honey in the jeweled flower;
while relentlessly, it whiled away? And the women, who relentlessly
tried to hide the knowledge of it from themselves, to keep the blissful
secretions secreted away inside their petalled shells.

This is everything, yet it is not the only story.
It is but one darkly shining facet of that elusive gem we call Truth.

And when that rush came coursing through their veins, when that honey
graced their lips, they thought for a moment they were women.
And she would laugh, and say, you don't know iDEATH, and the vision would
fade. Sometimes they would be sated, and sometimes still hungry, and
ever-searching, and ever-wondering but ever-weary.

But what do I know. I don't know women.
I was created to be an impartial observer to this whole game.
I think your time is running out.

next / spin