"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet."
― Plato
The Madman of the shore, the dead eyes of the tower, the world is only in your head, only when I am dead will you begin to unravel the unseen Realm stored within my head, ages of anthologies, the heart of a dead god trapped among the disappointment.
The firmament of awe, where we can pick the glassen stars, O' how we forget we are living- to believe in death is to foresee it, must you weep? miserable soul of the anchor.