Silently Weeping
by Matt Bolton
There can be no describing the pain a man feels when he remembers. He, like all others must be the prisoner of his existence; no other can ever truly share this with him. They will always stand apart, and can no more fully empathise than can they merge with the physicality of his mind. His pain must be his alone – his useful enemy; his spiteful friend. His words can only conjure a shadow of the trueness; its ghost, whose desire to speak honestly is confounded by translation. Continue reading
The 900 Club 