So much for the slaves to the myths of history. Not a mention of the undercurrents of all histories. Powered by the blood of slaves the bodies left as mountains, piled high in recognition of obstacles to come. Some we could not see in mortal form. As men invented Gods to cover their heinous crimes forever
Many Pages
I sat reading turning the many pages mine hands turned as gold I had found purity the pages within spoke to me through the conduits of my vulnerability my blood vessels found the root in the many routes to change the inner vines of life were working well in organic perfection I was here for a time another time to reach involution till my last breath
over us.