Though I've called your name a thousand times, my words are blown back
into my face. The wind makes my skin harder still. The clouds race by
over-head and I fight to remain standing, the signs of endless journeys
shows in my weakened stance. I wish for the ground to open. I have been
around the world and back, I have re-lived every memory, re-dreamt every
dream and felt every touch (again). Still the clouds will race, the wind
will cut and soon I will fall. The dust will form a mound that shall be my
tomb, never to be whetted by the tears of mourning, because I was lost
long ago in a colder world and lost you forever.
I believe that each man craves the soul rejuvenation that, for centuries,
authors and poets of the world have immortalised through the written and
spoken word. I believe that each man wishes to harness the power of the
burning sun and rejuvenate the soul that, for many of us, lies dead. I too
have traveled these paths and found that most lead to a bare world.
