No Title

No title With each day, come mirrors of many a reflection. Each day, they become lost in moments of repetition that begin at the break of my day. Days come to an end, in the same way. If your days are longer then the twenty four bequeathed them and your nights blacker then mine - midnight skies, black holes in time -. I would gladly take those hours of gloom, their blackness and make them my doom so that you might come into light, be free, spread your wings, take flight to places in this plane, you may never have known, seen, felt or known anyone who could have shown you what is beyond and how beautiful the sight, a glorious space where you know everything is alright. B. J. “A ” 2 October 8th 2004