Sliver, yet shine. That bit of sun through the cracks of this cold wall. Stone, bare, but stalwart. Touch with my hand all that should be gone. Memory, in laughter, echoes as if a phantom leaving in the morning light. These keep walls, staunch upon the years. Held now by shadow and tear. Locked, chained, sealed in that grasp of ever. Wend what roads I must go now.
– Mitsuo Tanaka