Who would ever dare then thinkabout these revelations in ink,each drop bled out upon the page,but meant for some distant, finer age. Or so it seems within this dream,while I pen away on a poetic stream,scribbling lines through sleepless night,in...

Life is misery, death is contentment. Once more I step into daylight, but still washed in nighttime. Hues of misery shine in both night and day.  Can heaven wait?  I cannot wait forever for happiness. Whether it be the sun or moon, hues of misery shine.