New chapters must arise from the book that you do not read, if all is viable, all is well, if all is infected, we are near that end. Pages burn in red windows, ash may speak about what may burn, if eyes turn back towards what may come, we shall meet with branches of olive. They may seek the treatment, the antidote is not what it seems, take a moment to remember, the message is there, if only we see through the words, the walls may crumble. This is truth, this is the will, a place is made upon the alter, chase out the shadow to reveal the key. The tree grows in both directions, walk backwards to face the north, the fear will run like blood, the love will flow like a river, the current will bring us back to the surface.
Image by: Francesca Woodman