1-9(?)-93

It's strange how, sometimes, looking down a dark spiral can appear to be looking up.  Things go on.  I have to live this life now.  I have to find the words today.  Tonight.  The future is a scary place to live.  The past is easy and rough.  But there remains something tauntingly amiss.
   
      Opened have hearts' minds,
      turned back are the old gales,
      only disruption now binds
      these tellers to their tales.
      Heaven help the dream
      and too the dreamer of its love,
      pushing past the pallid scene,
      to find themselves above,
      looking upon a banquet feast,
      and rapture of voice below,
      a feather between pages creased,
      begins the thread of points to flow,
      again the end is the same,
      again the end is the same.

Cautiously the day edged to night, and the glances flickering through the newly kindled flames begin to become longer, and less wary of return.  Each soul around that grave circle was a unique and classless type, none the same but all together, for reason beyond reason, for results unquestionable and vast.

Turning a green, hardly-dead stick in the fire, the first one to speak does.  He begins with his own story, and is able to follow with common ground to the group.  As he unravels the whole, the others are aware of what they are to add, and what they must say.  Follow.  Follow.