Spinning forthright, spiral now, ending in the nothing-advent.
It is your fault. Your fault.
It is.
You can hear the cry of a child's mind. It does not end. Niether be for gotten.
The deafening loudness becomes silent.
Felt as scar in mind, he lives with the silence.
The silence is maddening. It has captured and killed many men before him.

With eyes on his back, only time will tell.

deep overflowing wells of regret and humiliation,


I feel your heartbeat, come to an enveloping cloud of understanding.

let me wrap you in dry towels and add salt and feathers.

oh friend, i feel your plea!

yes,

for mine eyes cannot rest upon those which are fierce with understanding

the light oh, the light, rest your head to shield your eyes from these wicked things

let me touch your jewelled words of mercy and grace

I will warp you in understanding and clothe you with excpetance

I feel your plea

code:

---

/me ignores muskwit and continues

---

The hounds chase. They hunt not of hunger. Knowing the scent they wil not cease.
Not running, but hiding, the child remains safe. Rectifying his reason he sulks in his disposition.
Patience.
Thinking before nevermore. Slowly flowing. Not


Filament falling forward in the way.
Hearing the ears, his spine contricts, his teeth grit. Lightning and thunder day and night.
Omnipresent quatrain.
The undoing.
The horrors.
Still persecuted. His faults at hand. He is no 1
Contantly counted.



[This message has been edited by Thoughtmonger (edited 11-21-2002).]

Feeding, the truant animal eats. Alone.
Not knowing.
Naive to the shadow. To the meanace. To the eye.
Freedom in the foreground.
Not knowing.
Susceptible. Assailable, ready and willing.
Ready to accept defeat. Awaiting success.
Tainted are the many.
Not knowing.
They are acclimatized to fear.
Obscured truth.

All disdained by the beast.