in spite of, or rather, in furtherance of, the castles that give so much yet relent the spite of our own fallacies, we give back to the waters we know to be full. alas, the impoverished droughts of the desert can give no solace to the faceless crowds hoarding tiles like camels.
as the winds rise up and the storms rise, the silence is ghastly and pure. the light is fierce. the shadow tells the story of bright joy. but the shadow is dark. the shadow speaks in contrast knowing not how to portray such impossible glory.
but the shadow stays humble, stern in purpose, growing and glowing with the unknown delights of purity. we see nothing. we grasp and stumble and wilt before the undying powers that supersede our pitiable selves. caught in motion, tumbling, tumbling. towards and forwards.
