Insight of one male

Ah the waking hour silent and all still but the wind which channelled through the trees drew my mind like a rudder of thoughts crossed and images once banished lifted from the silt bottomed mindscape.

Where in the bountiful eyes of our counterparts doth that spark originate?

Each one a chorus of efulgent truths, tendrils of the past with grim strength holding back their golden words for fear, for those before us that cradle their tender hearts. For those which had commited dire transgression of flesh and spirit.

And we with troubled minds and heavy hearts must endure the penitence left by the untrustworthy.

We. Slaves of our own selfless endeavors.