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Nov. 29th, 2007 12:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stitchwhichA child cries at birth, unwilling to leave the safety of its home - but wonders await it once the tears are dry.
Perhaps that is why this week has been so full of sorrow. On the eve of my birthday, a final thrust, a lie to slice the cord of the past...
Like a child, I weep. Like a child, I will learn and find gladness in other things unexplored. Already my mind dwells on the miracle of a friend's escape from death, of a Brotherhood that I love, of a song from the desert, haunting in its yearning. Of a new child brought forth through pain and ceaseless toil to the loving arms of his parents.
My hobby will not define my joy. Or any more, my tears.
Perhaps that is why this week has been so full of sorrow. On the eve of my birthday, a final thrust, a lie to slice the cord of the past...
Like a child, I weep. Like a child, I will learn and find gladness in other things unexplored. Already my mind dwells on the miracle of a friend's escape from death, of a Brotherhood that I love, of a song from the desert, haunting in its yearning. Of a new child brought forth through pain and ceaseless toil to the loving arms of his parents.
My hobby will not define my joy. Or any more, my tears.
