Earth Heart. The words have rattled in my head and pocket for too long now.
They must bloom.
Another new beginning. Rolling away another stone.
But I feel my interest fading with the wind.
The burgeoning,creaking heart of oak, more by luck than good judgement.
A sickness has settled on my lungs. No regret, just the simplicity and cacophany of an unrepentant heart.
A quenching requited and required, old soul, the shaking of nothing.
They are the rage and the futile fury.
What shall I do with the time I am given?
I think I will go gentle into that good night.