There is a letter from a world,

that was,were, and as yet would have become. . .

the now of ever lasting hour that has come from another.

Sweet sweet bitter poetic slumber,

Your world is not mine,

it was told and foretold by great olde Poesie’s;

The hour is near as I come here in place where my mind has gone by,

knowingly I am a traveler from and to,

the world of love life that we behold,

yet to be written and to be told.

Oh lo ghi v2.004


So it seems every mistake is nothing but blessings,

it seems every time i fall I am actually flying on the rebound,

but how many times must it be so to speak,

yet Yes,

I am consistent on this.