To Softly Settle In The Sweeping Wake
And so it begins again, the collection of dust.
And so it begins again, the collection of dust.
Nothing beside remains. Something beside remains.
I have, for so long now, found so little wild, so few pockets without their shadow, and so few of the wilder, natural prey. They are not within my grasp.
Trying, some desperately, some half-heartedly, to weave themselves back into the web that they severed themselves, at once with vicious intent and complete indifference, from.