The
winds are speaking. They utter a silent language—as vocal as pushing, to stir
the spirits. This is your day: that triumphant passage; that measure of
success; as forthwith as new responsibilities. Mother drops a tear; to witness
such growth; to partake in building personality.
The
tales are old; the trials are new; life becomes a length of vividness. We grow
adversities, likings, even temperaments: as to change in an instance, fevered as
normal, at odds to define this feature. There’s a symbol, favored in a gift, as
a cake is sliced. The in-betweens become clear. The heart leaps; granted this
river; as close to self as skin.
We
live a maze, from picture to picture, a mind filled with tableaus; to adjust as
needed, to form ideals, to learn philosophies. Our journey is ever a journey;
it never ends; we become masters, when skilled this journey; so desire the good, as one that knows, to distinguish
clearly.
The
winds are excited; to verse through souls; this fervent song. They celebrate
triumph; your inner warrior; your adamant breath. We tell a story, of the
brightest lights, when love flickers; we live a life, where grains morph, where
patience becomes virtue. Let us give, ever the vocal mirror, to reflect our
inner person; as one to soar, to snatch a fragment of skies, to pull the
exospheres.
