There is a changing sense,
Traceable to the beginning
Through this maze of years we
Tacitly call history;
Though often is nothing but the memory of a dream
Inventions, designed merely out of repetition -
Idleness as a means of diluting our
human compunction for
Injuring our most fragile sensibilities.
Mechanisms of truth abandoned to rust;
in the palace of our
Most exalted emotion: love.
Mended previously, only to be
Mistreated once more.
appears a soul, a reality which
Empathetic, expectant, all the while
Ensuring to stay even beyond the
Each wound has been carefully healed.