Uncertain, alone. Within a common tone, men and women reveal our own passions by the vessel of our actions, mostly without the drive for a single insistence, to justify their all too lethal persistence, in living lives free of resistance, for cryptic minds in regal subsistence.
Without borders or nations, stories are spun without narration. The 1st person's a keeper if we remain as a seeker for the strength to be meeker than in days heretofore. Careful to be clear whose door you close. Those whom we're true toward... all deserve kindness, regardless the sorrow we fear shall usher in tomorrow.
For only to empower truth, its innate proof kept safe by wallflowers in history's high towers. Imbued with such powers, we sense with intuition and dispense with all suspicion of pretense, or some condition too immense for man's rendition, at dire expense coming to fruition.