His words ramble together as the past, the present and untold future of every soul.
Angered by the senseless introductions of all that don’t care to fear, dance or solve the maze within their minds.
With every stroke, every thought, every phrase that swings the pendulum until we decide where it lands, we hear the man who wrote for sake of proving it should be.
On a road in the middle of nowhere, with no horizon, he will take you to ends of the earth, dare you to jump, and teach you to fly. A writers voice sends his wish to your head, to your body and allows you to make it your own.
Carefully read in all the syllables and punctuation but not felt, is the waste of our own worldly desires. To be it, sending all your wickedness, your prosperity, your venture, your admiration and love, you can become it.
In the hidden meaning is the obvious that all was faced from the beginning, I am no Shakespeare, but he is I.