Pulling my strings, from up above, you can see the glorious but sleepy mid-day sun.
It’s time for siesta for the omnipotent force, and for this puppet to cut away the binding strings. With no remorse, I will soak up its golden force and mold it into my personal will.
You will see me running as the sun sleeps, with no intention to help it awaken.
Running behind the back of mid-day sun, I will leave reason to wait in the shadows, and promise emotion to drink from its cup, but only after darkness sets in. I will try to infuriate the ground by ignoring her voices, so silent and still, repeating an age old chant that brings boundaries to life, restricting my will.
That would be the plan, if I had one.
Spirit of Tara 