Voices in the wind
I walk through the land of darkness and despair. Where pain is but a mortal's memory and death a sad reminder of my
immortality. Yet I choose to question this immortal soul which I have been born into. We are not immortal as the word
is used, and as we think upon this, the darkness consumes us. As we were born from the shadows so shall we vanish
beneath them. My words and my eyes a window to the souls of immortals and mortals the same. So it is said so it shall
be done.
Power is a direct source of energy, and to each it's own. But question not the power of another. For when taught how
to use it, it is unending.
Mark yee the blood that pours over this cross, and drips from piercing lips to stain thine soul of death and pain. So
shall you live off these mortals, pretending you are some that lie above them. You have tasted death's bitter taste along
your lips. And soon, if not the future changed, this bitter taste of death will be your own.
The world cries out and yet we chose not to hear. It tells of all the tales we have wished to learn and all the tales we
have forgotten. It is a part of us, and yet we seem to let it hang there like a dead branch. You must learn to listen or
perish all thought and questions of this world.
The world is not all tears if we do not make it so.
Whispers in the wind are to be heard and not ignored, kept and not discarded, remembered and not forgotten. For they
are the whispers of your children, your ancestors, the land and the water, the soft wind in your hair, a flower so sweet,
the people everywhere, and this place we call home. Now is the time to listen with open heart and gentle steps towards
the truth.
Go back to Whisper from the dead
