Dietrich Bonhoeffer
The test of the morality of a society is what it does for its children. My mind like a blanket of white, like white soft satin sheets spread across a king size bed, unruffled, straight and perfect, lying still in the silence of the songs. Unmoving, just silent, listening to the world, his footsteps heavy as they cross the room, breath heavy with warmth and perspiration. You can smell the heat and the odour of this diseased man, who lumbers under the weight of sorrow and hollowed out from the fires spilling out across the amber skies. Walking towards the musky books, he’s so tired he seems to have gone as far as he could ever get. He can’t see me. I watch as sinks deeper into his watchman’s chair, the pain peeling and the legs just crumbling under his weight. His troubles are one even the devil cannot erase. His notes scattered all over the floor, papers dry and parched, thinned and frayed at the sides penned with ink of old and the script of a ancient’s hand. He can dream of the soulfu...