time burns from inside
Unfurled in an ancient land, scrabbling to survive until I fit in, I travelled to where the star appeared over a babe in a fabled manger.
The fish and loaves, water and wine, were but candles of ancient times. The good news of who we are is harvesters of time’s own scythe.
I followed that story to its bloody end, but there is more to what happened. Beyond sons and daughters divine, we are hewers of the arc of time.
My bones to dust, but words survive. This script you find in a cave of lime reveals the lie they openly hide, reveals that time burns from inside.
