What terrible poignancy that we are born with the spark of our own demise contained within us. All that our lives will be, the span that is allotted to each and every one of us, is held within that blueprint of our design. If we are lucky enough the road map will direct us to the second half of our crescent moon; that which rounds us out and makes us whole.
The metamorphosis is an uneasy and sometimes painful transformation but all growth requires sacrifice and pain. The entirety of being, two divided yet one, reflects the light of love in the clearest of icy rays in homage to the creator’s brilliant radiance. The waxing and waning of the night’s face echoes the ebb and flow of our tides. There must be dark so that we may know the light. The constant is contained within the inconstant and nothing is given but the unknown epilogue.