Wednesday, October 11, 2006
The fallen is not seen by all, it is not who you expect. It is the way you feel when you cannot see them. It’s the end of the art, the end of what was not. I cannot see them fall, I can feel them pass trough to get to the end off none. Can we see all, in the form they are suppose to be? Can we end the fight for the forgotten ones? There are endless rooms between here and there. This is the movement off souls. What does fall, what does float. Do we stand here and move trough times, live in ignorance, think we understand but never quite get it. There is no need to understand why; we are the chosen ones. Are we not the living dead? There might be none of us that can stand here in their presence. We are the fallen ones, but angels we will never be, we have taken and broken too much.