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As Above, So Below
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My Artform: Finshed Don't fumble them in your mouth, mumbling you lose the meaning. They are an orderly sort, let them come as they may, they Will, know the way. Locked in a glass case, for them it is but one way out. It is by our hands that they may be lead, but hands lead simply; they perch themselves upon the tip of a tongue, there, waiting for life, like the next page that comes after the following. It is only by us,that the sun rise, it is only by us that their world ever feels sunlight. But you can only give life, though no second thought you'll think on it again, transcending to the accordance of whichever, light.
