Those nights full of soliquoy, most dreary, are the hardest for the lonely, aching and bereaved soul… Love waning, longing, wistfully and fervently… Yearning for the unattainable; wanting, wantonly, for the impossible—the place beyond the shadows of monoliths and graves olden…darkness, profound, encumbering—but consuming mine soul in whole;
Loss, is such a profound thing…the emotive capacity, the dwelling thoughts, the lingering sadness, the gleaming ruminations, and the pain of remembrance… How is one expected to go on? How is it, man is able to overcome the darkness of abyss—the profoundness of the lowliest abased?
With Profundity, greater than the Raging Sea,
The Marrow of Spirit, Love, Eternal,
Until Death Betide Thee Too, In Whole.