Jigged like a muse on life's lawn...

We have lived so many alternate realities and parallel worlds, that the difference between the real and imagined is now a raging leviathan in a tempestuous swell. No matter what, and I need to be mindful amidst all those cloying melodies, assignations and raucous imbroglios — the one simple mysterious truth: on some retrocausal level, is that the deeply entangled that happen upon that precious gift of eachother, will now and forever whirl in a gentle song of eternal ambrosial whisperings, seven thousand endless caverns deep, seven thousand lifetimes long. Because supreme love is bound with cosmic string, and is thunder from the depths of the æons. Love is not to be relinguished like a rude uproar or pestilent child, save the last of the winds of heaven be unbound upon you, nor falter the worship of Hecate. Those enraptured in lies and deceit, are left perceiving not even a shadowy sound, for they sacrificed a sacred gift to the pyre. The very last ebony moon is shining on desolate shores now. Love should be ennobled, as it's all we've got in the end.