Control is something we covet to have. Freedom from all, anything, that our hands will be able to heal from years of hard work embedded on our palms. As I put my poetry book together, I too see how the past years I desired this control over a force I thought oppressed us all.
Illusion? Fear? My words changed each year just as my prayers did, so that I too can gain more control over an illusion or fear that has been fed to me in tales told when I was young. Goodnight.