The obscure writings of Ta-Meaut; indeterminate poet, ambiguous writer and amorphous philosopher.......... I don't live to write, I write to live...
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Pillow Book "illuminati"
Where I come from, during the deepest darkest night of winter, we light soft flickering candles and sing old, old songs to chase away the neverending darkness.
How many years, no centuries, have we not continued to do so?
For it is true that just one small candle can give you hope returned, as you watch that tender spark resonate in the dark and chase your fears away.
beautiful this reminds me of a family or a town of people who are in trouble and are trying to escape but that candle they've light they feel is there only light of hope
beautiful this reminds me of a family or a town of people who are in trouble and are trying to escape but that candle they've light they feel is there only light of hope
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