Afar

Beyond the plain, beyond the distant hills the coast is calling, even in its silent diffidence proclaiming richness to horizon's crust, that here is where the world begins— here is where a man may throw his soul into the wind, and gather echoes for the journey home. Here the ember glow of vigil still betrays old fire of mariners who lie beneath the sea, of broken men who saw the land again, and of the ones who dared to carry England to the left of God. Here is where one breathes the scent of history, here where romance was hovering when rest alone was hungered for. And it was here where blue-eyed visionaries raced, and flew, and shot out for the stars. And there is yet a timeless phalanx built of heroes lined upon the shore, the ones who face new hazards every day, do not quail before the hot demands of solvency. We're dealing with a system made of irony, of reticence, yet steel resolve amid a fantasy annointed with desire. No wonder death appeals, for it is either summary completion, or an open highway to a plain where more aesthetic sophistry proclaims its awe. It is the choice afar that rides upon the mist above the land, that reaches with a man beyond the twilight of the day, beyond the churlish midnight toll to celebrate the flourish of the dawn. ~