These my words shall not be judged by a poet, a critic or a writer, hence them I hang on desolate walls and them I shout into the void. They’re meant not for the tainted hearts or tainted minds, for they are not but fading rhymes for the thirsty wanderer, soothing chimes for the lost and the mad, aching howls for the deaf and the wicked, and waning hymns for a barren god.

H.Q.
18:55
Thu.  09 Aug. 2012