Moments
Words were always symbols only part of what they convey but oh great sorrow of sorrows, when unintended, they give pain for though man spends hours and educates himself for days, he still holds a knife in his tongue, and can unwillingly cut in deepest of ways. And yet those days should still be spent, in learning to master one's words for though words may cut, unknowingly how much more otherwise will the horrors be? In so many way, a tragedy, do my eyes see this world to be, in so many ways, a horror, do my ears hear it's song, in so many ways, a sad song, are even singular moments of good will, in so many ways, a funeral march, is this life, in waiting for the words, the words of the world to come. And yet, and yet, and yet, hope must still there be, hope against hope, and light against night, and life against pain and suffering. For rare though it may be, still even in this world, of sorrows and funerals and grave and terrors, still even in th...