I'd Like To Thank Readers. Every Time

Simon, Would You Still Care For Me If You Discovered I Was Not Who I Say I Am?" What Do You Mean?" I Mean Would You Still Care For Me, No Matter What You Came To Know?" What A Thing To Ponder. I Don't Know What To Say." The Answer Is No. He Does Not Need To Say It. With A Sigh, Simon Digs At The Fire With The Iron Poker. Bits Of The Charred Log Fall Away, Revealing The Angry Insides. They Flare Orange For A Moment, Then Quiet Down Again. After Three Tries, He Gives Up. I'm Afraid This Fire's Had It." I Can See A Few Embers Remaining. "no, I Think Not. If..." He Sighs, And It Says Everything.

The Dark Does Not Weep For Itself Because There Is No Light. Rather, It Accepts That It Is The Dark.

Did God Ever Cry Over His Lost Angel, I Wonder?

Instead, I Try To Adjust To The Dawn, Letting The Tears Fall Where They May, Because It Is Morning; It Is Morning And There Is So Much To See.

The Night's Chilly Breath Tickles Up My Neck And Finds My Ear, Whispering Secrets Only The Wind Knows.