Paul Barrowman Biography

...

I walk the forest valley early in the dawn, thick fog surrounds me. With each step I take, my feet clean the wild grass from the ornaments of dew.

Turning, I see my bright prints overtaken by the enduring mist. The sprawling branches of the thicket pierce through the fog like the bones of wrecked vessels on uncharted shores. I walk the dampend ground to a beaten path, not made under the trampled foot of men, Here I kneel and observe. The grass and its royal crown, once adorned with diamonds is now enlayden with stones of ruby, the life blood of all.
...

Loneliness is a barren well
from witch no water is drawn.

The sun burns hottest on the shoulders of a burdened man.
...

If I was tall to touch the pole
twice the lenth of the fall.
Eyes of fire, scarlet red
to the ground, coming dread.
...

...