grave

There is an end to every journey.

I killed my ex lovers and buried to my memories' grave. It is JanuaryAnd I am tired of being brave.

Everything was gone, the garden of wind and light, the Chrysalis, the Mother and her sister-crones, the rowan tree, everything. I was in a grove__o, it was a triad of trees: apple, oak, hazel. And at my feet something that smacked of familiar miens, a stone half buried in a pitch of heather. A stone bearing my name and a date I could hardly remember.A moment passed, another and in those moments I stood numb with gluey feet at the foot of my own grave. For the first time since I__ come to the Faeran Valley, I was alone. And the silence was deafening.

I__ now __octor_ to the patients and I have to cover my ignorance by waving my arms and looking grave.

At the very point that I__e taken something for granted, I have at that same moment taken it to its grave. And if I look around, I realize I__e cultivated quite a cemetery.

Darker and darker, he said; farther and farther yet. Death takes the good, the beautiful, and the young - and spares me. The Pestilence that wastes, the Arrow that strikes, the Sea that drowns, the Grave the closes over Love and Hope, are steps of my journey, and take me nearer and nearer to the End.

What man ever openly apologizes for slander? It is not so much a feeling of slander as it is that of a massive lie, a misdeed not only to the slandered but also to those manipulated in the process. He has made them all, every one, his enemies, thereupon he is so overwhelmed with guilt that he will deny it until his grave.

You are a cool cemetery.You have the sinner__ graveYou have the saint__ earthcollidingYou have all the bedsnarrow as a knife;as if a rally of tombstones to defend death.But you can__ really postponethe inauguration of my burial,can you?From the poem - Few Words to Cemetery