All of These Things

All of these things that weave our attention, bind us to the altars of our history They offer the cold comfort of home, the strangeness of familiarity and promise of dark days I have been brought to this place with the hope of silent dreams and illusions not yet tested on the bridge of my life. Hoping ever silently that the binds will loosen and I will be cast over the edge into the moving abyss. Ever to be held, ever to be known , forever.