Oh, the Drahmah.

And yet..

..Through the rain of hellfire and soul-mortar, that I dodge on a nightly basis..Through the slow-but-insistant draining away of energy and passion and Life, Itself, it seems..Though the ground I crawl on seems strewn with broken glass and ice and razors..

..some warmth and hope remains.

..And a wee blue flower manages, somehow, to raise its face towards the sun.