Though I've called your name a thousand times, my words are blown back into my
face. The wind makes my skin harder still. The clouds race by over-head and I
fight to remain standing, the signs of endless journeys shows in my weakened
stance. I wish for the ground to open. I have been around the world and back, I
have re-lived every memory, re-dreamt every dream and felt every touch (again).
Still the clouds will race, the wind will cut and soon I will fall. The dust
will form a mound that shall be my tomb, never to be whetted by the tears of
mourning, because I was lost long ago in a colder world and lost you forever.
I believe that each man craves the soul rejuvenation that, for centuries,
authors and poets of the world have immortalised through the written and spoken
word. I believe that each man wishes to harness the power of the burning sun and
rejuvenate the soul that, for many of us, lies dead. I too have traveled these
paths and found that most lead to a bare world.