Wrote with Love is a garden. it is every flower and blade of grass growing in that garden, every worm, man and ram living in that garden and it is the last words of every life that has ended in the shade of its trees. It is the print left by the hand of countless visitors
Tuesday, June 9
Resembling a candles flame
I have found god upon the path I walk. Like everyone can say. God did not fit a definition or object I had held or heard. God took something I already knew, transforming it into something unarticulatable, something resembling a candles flame.
