Johnconstantine

At a time when darkness sprouts like a dwarf plumules that seek for moisture and sunlight.
When we could only hear the whispering sound of a cricket.
With a conglomeration of masked awe.
When weakness come knocking at the door of a helpless soul.
A playback of man's actual activity that comes like a trance.
When poets strive to convey emotional ideas in black and white.
I sat beside my bed with an epileptic glittering of an ancient wax.
Opted not to succumb to the irresistible course of nature.in an attempt to reach for my pen and dairy.
To consult the conference of literature.