To conduct a presence.
Do I dare ask what that presence shall be?
Shall mine grow beyond my own being?
To touch another.
To touch
Another.
...
Out of the obligations written in the stars of blood and circumstance could I ever move a spirit other than my own?
And to what extent shall such a touch be tolerated my a nobler motive?
Is it a deep setted evil within, moving my heart to a craving of power?
Or the bright mysterious longing for connection.
For love.
...
Yes this is the question, is it not?
The reach of one's presence matters not.
No it it not whether it is extended to all things or none at all as it fades from these walls of existence.
But it is if it shall hold the light or the dark as it root cause as it simply exists.
YOU ARE READING
Songs Of The Storm ( Poetry )
PoesíaA collection of poems inspired of the storms of my mind.
