Draw near do breaths so dear. floating lifted sight of mental anguish.
like time onto itself the world seems to flutter off and not.
Lunar kisses from dying wings, the eclipsing life of that falling wonder.
upon my nose with a dying whim, whispering dreams to the sheen of the sky.
"There is nothing to be said for the words that speak thier own...
But the picture painted in verbatim will speak more than the flutter of a feinded toung...."

In these words i found a solace. and a warning to take caution in the obvious, expect what is, to be what is not.
and in due time, past by years of regretful learning, i took into mind those thoughts that came from on high.

Whispers and Whims from Dying Lunar Wings. Oh the bliss to be a moth set free to die in clutches clad in pearl and fall ever so content.