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We were meant to be grown with wings the anatomy of crows : nights song,  the enchantress calls your vermilion luster as you are twilight. the spiked fruits that hold  the sweetest cadence, full plated moon blows a silent invocation  to your beating collar. drag the rugged corpse away from the light of eyes,  grant peace to the wicked;  the grateful untouchables. your coal shade is fuel,  tiny chicklets leap  from daisy to dandelion. while you watch undiscovered. the soreness

All the colors of Radiohead

I move, for I cannot stop. I remain in motion.

I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

I hope to have a very beautiful garden one day, where many insects can thrive and maybe some humans too.

Islamic Metaphysics

A matter of exhibiting or impeding human excellence

A vow