On the webs of stretched poles, the fierce memories of my existence, entwined and fierce, float in order, yet reappear. They bear sins fallible or guilty as well as the orphaned restless ones, who can hardly care whether it is day or dark. Nor can the protagonists be more with their done things than mere pause-signs; their cages are rattled by wandering ghouls when they are called. Soberness and indecision are present in their behaviour, as well as in their trailing words.
The ornamentation of scars done needs the more half-hearted, the more all-pleasing care; none can want to lose unworthily the prayers of the sobbing true-kisses shed for those who yet may have remained faithful and pure for their humanity.
In distraught yet pleasing redemptive confusion, as phase shifts, the why of split confessions burst forth, "I need you! Don't leave me!" - Two silent looks of speech when with a single will then no excuses, cheap whys can count. In eyes disembodied still floats the dream of dreams: beneath soul-vortexes treasure-hearts guard absolute harmony. Manageable conflicts also become compromises to be negotiated, for every voice would need to be shaped into inner voices at the same time.
There is a constant deliberate obscuring of memories by manifestations of ageing; we can also see recognisable features being deliberately erased. From the Executioner-Death the settled life-wearer hides himself prudently out of sight - At the last judgment all will be taken out while the unburdened codes of sins and transgressions are again circulated!