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gates;
July 26, 2011
Strange masterpieces they are, welded out of saltwater rust and oaken brass, symphonic trunks of near recognition that brush past the wilderness and open up into the waiting precipice, so endearingly tall and yet so irrefutably brittle, I watch the vines of gold and silver snake up past these staffs of acceptance and rivalry, the passageway between where I am and where I want to be…
And all I can do is clutch at these metal bars and try to stare past the veiling mist that shields that precious heaven from me, and I wish, I wish…
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