Upon this window, looking in the falseness of identity. Out stretching hands pulling me through the glass mansion of mirrors. With such discretion i look upon you. Your face filled with the wonders of something i will never come to understand . I live in the life of madness. Beating to the sacred drum of nothingness. So alls one can do is observe and live the mysteries of life through your eyes. I will not, I can not ask of you, nor expect of you to understand . As one feeding every other thing, we can take the journey together. But never can we be the balance of difference . In the times of no-time, one drifts endlessly in the acts of non action. Without progression, being from were the source pours over in to creation.
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