Sand

A sign is but the evidence of the mind's will to encompass eternity within a moment. this may be unfair, it is possibly the realization of the mind finally managing to encage infinity within an instant. But perhaps more, a sign maybe not only a hint of infinity itself, and love, but the will that journeys the world anew.

As we are born by love we shall die by its hands.

It is him which keeps our incstints burning as well as will eventually bring us to the gates.

Far from here, trough all my hopes and attempts, lies nothing. As long as the road is journeyed, the act itself is an act of love, out of the furnace, a glipse of god, and god is but we.

All action is art, we are odyssey or tragedy, thus caring or destructive, we shall become iron will or hazy lie. Thin is the thread that binds them together, and to sit between them is divine. An uncaring care, to protect all bonds it to truly protect the bonders.

I'm still wishing anew, such signs that are still to sprout. Is my body tender and protective ? Can i confort ? Would somebody want to need me ? Is my wall so thick ? And my will so terrible ? My might so distant ? do i scare ? or just lack ?

How long is now ? Are we yet to arrive love ?