As art is the soul of the universe, and poetry its example proper a child in the footsteps of a martyr hides

under a shadow, hushes herself. So quiet is time as it is shattered swaddled with a life it reconstitutes when blood sheds its tears by its splattering eyes from their innocence separated yet smaller than destruction she answers, I will wander all the world in my quest, there is someone who is responsible. I will take my time as my heart grows fuller, it will watch over me while I listen, alerting me as its necessary.