Distinctly weirdly me…

Time afflicts man heinously. This certain for Solomon’s trembling keepers of the house, but what deeper tragedy for the master? Built not in final morring’s anticipation, casting off into ever deepening water, the Lady seeks greater distance and new discovery. Here the damage: not progress, nor sin, but the inevitable collision whereupon perfection bows and much that could be and was fades – time.

Humanity: ever slower-grinding wheel? Not “to be” or “not to be,” rather “what question was?”


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