A world of desperation. 

The face and the faceless. 

Indescribable yet on the tip of my tongue.

Impecability holds the key to power.

I stare out over the city on my park bench throne.

The morning hours calm my mind. 

Crows speak in their own tongue. 

I reflect on a night of dreaming. 

The number is 4. 

Time to let go of what I can no longer carry. 

My saving grace is love. 

Without that all things perish.