Adam's Garden

undeterred and left abiding to his own tears, his faces were obscured and shallow, while his own vague entirety was shifting towards a sun he could not see or feel or wait to endure.

he was sitting near the window, waiting, enduring the casualties of his own terror.  a pause and a triumphant calling to the nearsighted words he caroled down the mountain, lifting his spirit higher and higher, winding his face up and spitting anguish to the skies that dismay his armpits.