Craig Froman Quotes That Will Inspire You to Live Your Best Life

1. Above this crystal pool are rows of lighted candles, flames flickering in the wind. Carved orange lanterns line the crags.O, ignisfatuus,foolish fire.O, the lanternin the mire.Spirits quakingwith the light,demon darkness,far too bright.Orange whispers,yellow cries;ever-haunting,numb good-byes.Good-bye, O childhood;Farewell, my nickel joys. An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

2. All along the crystal cove the woven masks pace and pause from doorstep to doorstep. Shadows dance on the crest of the moon, as clouds, like dark bats, shift through the skies.The children in garments of glib disarray;the parents wear masks that won’t fade away.Olive and amber, sea and sky;salt and sand go winding by.One can sense the cries of hovering birds,the laughter of children,and frost-bitten air. An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

3. Daniel seems to rise above the moon with a brilliance in his eyes. He steps toward the sea and screams, more in defiance than rage. Mortality; O wretched death and mortality!Decay is a demon dream, schemed in symmetry.O, that death crucified might halt its talons,for all will ascend from the grave!Remember the fallen, the slain; their dust is our foundation. Consider their suffering and pain; for there lies a new creation. An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

4. Daniel, I speak through weariness, God has given me little hope and less strength. I hear only a voice saying ‘no’ from the wings of this circling stage. Ah, because we worship the gods of the arts in our wavering world; the mock souls and masked faces with painted-on peace. What do you expect of a forgery? He pauses as he turns toward me. Reality is no longer relevant. Darkness chokes the moon as we rest on stirring sand. An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

5. Daniel? Daniel...of what use are the bones of saints? Of what great interest to me are their dusted stories of day? I stand at a dreadful distance. He speaks,Silent stones of granite hue;enveloped now in sacred dew.Speak somber words of restless hope...of resurrection. I hear the hushings of the wind in a rhythmic silence, and turn to see a friar’s lantern on a distant ridge. An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

6. For a brief moment two young brothers appear immobile on this rubble. Their faces are serene and still. It is my blood. My brother untouched and unchanged, alive now in some distant place, full of hope and grace. All sweet with no bitter;all bright and no pale.The rough is made smooth;the dark clouds, a dream. An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

7. This unholy masqueradewhen reality does fade,the imprint of the Godon our mortal-stained facade.Saints and spirits strip the earthof the straining hope of birth.Kill the hope with grasping grave,cries the earthly mortal slave. An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness