The soul does open wide its white wings, even until we are nearly drowned in the rushing outpour of its floodtides. The doors are blasted once more from their old and creaky hinges, and the sudden silver light full from the source of each highest dream, floods forward to eclipse the musty darkness or the dingy cell, in which we had tried to hide ourselves from the white light. 161 more words
The air is crisp yet underneath this smoothness are whispers hushed by the trees to prevent rain from falling.
The sun radiates warmly giving enough light to everyone even if the clouds cover the truth that at some point in time, reflection shall take cover and overpower it. 84 more words
How now is soon to become then,
As future slips to now.