It is the darkest of times, the brightest lights emerge.
Even in the bowels of sorrow and pain, the happiest joy is birthed.
The writers cage tightens, as all is no longer well within his mind.
The canvas has gotten rougher, resisting all mediums suggested.
The still small voice becomes hard the hear, the thuds and bellows replace the peace within, sparking embryos of dark seedlings fighting to burst forth.
The ditch is at its deepest! Voices rake the dulldrum feeding error to further continuance, further scraping the residue testing my core!
No longer can this persist!
No longer can tears beyond the stars rest as dew betwixt my locks
The constant rhythm rides!
Ya! The rhyme chimes but no line has been found about this world
Cast thy self about the clouds
Write the silver that lines them
Heed the call, lest the rain fall
And fall they will
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