The blood of an infant cries with primordial warfare.
As flower pedals are crushed in the ground by clumsy feet, I ponder over the meaning of it all; Happiness a miserable ease.
Running since conception and who and why and where.
By who's hand was the meaning of life giv'n? The question begs an irrelevant answer. By my hand I may take it away. Therefore, power is in my hands.
With epiphany in my soul I lay weeping with optimism in the light shadows cast beneath the sky.
I was a worm.
I am a bridge.
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