Memories Of One Lost
You are the face of those who fell before you.
The only trace left of the people you call, “ancestors.” Your blood beats with the spirit that embodied them, the lust and the passion that fell upon their skin at any given time without warning and in utter accordance with their souls and their hearts and in entirety, their being. Do you step out into a forest and stare up at the stars peering through the trees? Do you breathe in and fill your lungs with the smell of the earth? Do you remember? Do you feel? Do you play the part so well as to please those around you but never to give due credit to yourself? Are you a pure representation of the portraits painted with lines and corrected with facets of another time?
