The Closed Divide

The space between the lines that no longer binds, with flowing accumulation of a non-holding trust … I find myself wondering if the opened hand was the must, of the honey mustard I always missed.

If there was a sense to the nonsense, which is not a pretense, but a whimsical flowing tense of things I can accept. I accept you fully, for you are the apprehension of truth, hence the end and the beginning of all that was, and is. When the truth presents, the confines are nothing but a placated handshake delivered, for a true action.

You are the ewe of all time, not for your sacrifice, but for mine. I stand in equal submission, with the possibilities of all that was, and is. The truth always finds us, I welcome it with open arms as I am helpless against the lust of it lusters and glory. For you I will.