Why Is It That Some Secrets Can

I'm An Oddity Of One, My Strangeness Too Complicated To Explain Or Share.

He Told Me That Once, In The War, He’d Come Upon A German Soldier In The Grass With His Insides Falling Out; He Was Just Lying There In Agony. The Soldier Had Looked Up At Sergeant Leonard, And Even Though They Didn’t Speak The Same Language, They Understood Each Other With Just A Look. The German Lying On The Ground; The American Standing Over Him. He Put A Bullet In The Soldier’s Head. He Didn’t Do It With Anger, As An Enemy, But As A Fellow Man, One Soldier Helping Another.

Board The Cows! We've Come To Enslave Your Marigolds.

What Frightens You? What Makes The Hair On Your Arms Rise, Your Palms Sweat, The Breath Catch In Your Chest Like A Wild Thing Caged? Is It The Dark? A Fleeting Memory Of A Bedtime Story, Ghosts And Goblins And Witches Hiding In The Shadows? Is It The Way The Wind Picks Up Just Before A Storm, The Hint Of Wet In The Air That Makes You Want To Scurry Home To The Safety Of Your Fire? Or Is It Something Deeper, Something Much More Frightening, A Monster Deep Inside That You've Glimpsed Only In Pieces, The Vast Unknown Of Your Own Soul Where Secrets Gather With A Terrible Power, The Dark Inside?

I Do Not Want To Pass The Time. I Want To Grab Hold Of It And Leave My Mark Upon The World.