Watch as we succumb
Idleness, idolatry
Fifteen seeds, one sin
Can twenty two do better?
And one, a sad broken husk?
Thread affixed to my phantom limb, pulling me through the eye of the needle. Across that threshold, a new world, unknown to me. Yet as all shadow crumbles to dust, even in my current state I feel it, all I can think about is the Knight of Flowers. His seed planted deep in the furrows of my womb. He took root, and I, as ravaged as I was, took solace in the babe. Some beauty, some life might come of all my pain. But that dream withered. He did not have a chance to live, to breath this air, to discover loss. My son, the sweet fruit of a bitter tree, in all his innocence and infinite possibility was not given a chance. The world might end and my greatest regret will remain the son I never bore. The failures I have lived since, several centuries of failures, pale in comparison. And ending his killer did nothing to bring hi m back.
