What's in a breath? What's in that overflow of air that prompts in inspirations any and all the movements of the soul, the body form, that spurs a revolution out of mere respiration turning the peace of sleep into the waking knowledge deep that says we are subject to the staves on which our living script, the symphonies unfold not guided by the hold we fix, profess to own, perfunctorily pretend to blow but by the breath itself, the spirit moving, deft showing in us, abiding in existence beyond casts and bribes, a breath away from life in life, dependent on a force beyond our lies?
Most excellent, Glob. We ponder with you. A soliloquy beneath the quiet darkness of a street lamp, accompanied by an ominous spirit rooted to provide strength while battling mortality.
Most excellent, Glob. We ponder with you. A soliloquy beneath the quiet darkness of a street lamp, accompanied by an ominous spirit rooted to provide strength while battling mortality.