Thoughts on sorrow - A short story/ reasoning And if anyone calls me 'bad toad' im gonna scream!!! (Im just kinda thinkin out loud here, not tryin 2 annoy/confuse) :)
Peace should see it, rested in a sacred eternity, beyond the lofty halls of the sun and the moon, nestled carefully within the valleys of the stars that among the heavens sit. What comfort could there be in hope, or even in rememberance, for what memory is is real as fleash or fire or ice?
So how harsh is sorrow, and what can hope to comfort this, for if it is real or not, who can tell, for sorrow is not an instinct, yet is it only a mere thought?