Dark was my room, cold was my night. Rhythm of the wailing rain echoes, as the breeze flowing tenderly in the midst. The smell of the fresh green pierced the windows arousing the bleak.
I own none a thing but just words. I dream no more than a dream. I desire less then a ravaging fire. I mean no harm. I just plead for my own hope, for my own peace.
From the farthest star to the smallest being may my knowledge will be, shall be incomparable to the understanding of living persons. Feelings, relations, speeches, actions, and thoughts are just too wide to grasp and to deep to be plunged. The least I hold is the word “sorry”, my last citadel of pride.