Each day passes,like the day before,today becomes tomorrow becomes yesterday,and the dreams of youth, like seeds cast upon a barren field,with age,become dust. Each day passes,like a blown autumn leaf before the winters breath,held carelessly,then gone.The nights are fraught with infinite promise,yet are unrevealing of intent,like a closed book to a blind man,time moves,each … [Read more...] about Within The Spaces, By: Reid Moule