Being that is not there, don't tell wind my fears. Let the mid day moon remind me or the ever present good, and the rising sun wake me with the passion that is starting to burn like the candles to which so much has been written. Let me breath the campfire smoke of the cold autumn night, knowing that the path leads to open doors, and the heart of one soul whom I truly have put faith. I will with every fiber pursue progression, sincerity and courage fueled by a tenacity and potential that will not be squelched. I do not beg for this, I labor hammer in hand beating the metal of ancient lamps in that same fire that has engulfed the forms of many