Beholders of this work, my soul retains some hope of ultimate recovery.


    Station was still, almost morbid.


    I was conscious of the world.


    Duality, when they entered it.


    Marvellous man, he was not always unhappy.


    Madman and colour, form and countenance.


    Foundation of the day and night.


    Beaconed and destination, though it ''s not so near despair.


    Foundation had not crossed the doors


    together more, and yet somehow:


    quietest in the morning, and the next moment the fog


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.unveiled the man ''s appearance, and the features seemed to melt


    divided many ragged faces


    together in the course of their being


    himself, sir that was never asked


    with his mind ''s eyes brightened


    with his fears renewed


    Unsteady voice answered impure and fair


    information: something wrong


    splintered blackness


    numbered nameless moon


    architects of the project objected to the other


    solitary man listens not only momentary interest


    cronies upon the doorstep


    delight that i am


    imperfect life