through the darkness something beckons you. Long, distant, whisper of a sound. You look for something to grab hold of, catch your senses, but out of the dark comes yet another wave, crashing over the beaten soul, as they come one after another, blow after blow.... But the shell remains. Dry, arid, cold like stone, yet tough like leather. None the less, the search continues. The eyes hold the stare, time goes on, and the sweet sweet smell lingers in the air all around. At least there is a little beauty in the curse. The time to rise back to glory awaits up ahead just beyond the horizon. Tired and in need of a moment to rest from the bearing sand storms. Only taking the time to relax and recover allows the demons to catch up and engulf every fiber. Every little scrap. The path is long and barren. There is no rest for the wicked. Still, the search continues. Every day, every week, month, year and century brings the returning moment closer. It's in the air and you can feel it, you know it. You lick your aching fangs.
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