In a world where all is borrowed, and time like elusive dust seems to just slip through our fingers,
all we really have are these precious moments where we can make fertile the soil in the garden of our hearts, that here love may make its home and here the mortal seed may flourish.
Only love can free us from the womb of time
for life like a magnificant mysterious cloud holds its shape and form only long enough for us to blink,
and all our precious memories are but shadows of time that will drift away like fallen leaves returning to the emptiness from which they came.
Thus we are, like innocent children flowering in the garden of souls
In a World
Posted - May 07 2008 : 10:39:44 AM
