The hours pass still & magic walks. Where do the vehicles escape during dusk? And justice reveals time of trying arrivals. Who is dead now, on the runway? I walk still towards the craft of wicca. I trust the natural arts and am its true patron. So, when I dance to this beat of stirs in the night, I can notice a glimpse of peace. This isn't the highest alteration of perception. Just, the orphans believe in the taste of these words.
08 February 2011(Moleskin notebook)
08 February 2011(Moleskin notebook)
-Cosette Harper
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