The sacred second...
When the wind has caused, a champion's roar
To the eave's of love, hap and skew, in the eyes of a pout's demon
I see myself, with a reaching privilege, to these the soul soars
Martyrs and deliverance, in the field of guest's asking if worths fire
Is a fire of rolling imaginations, and the mythic patience's of come?
As the lucre of our stillness, waiting on winds our of denial...
Lips of choice, if not solace, that has history's shoulder, for won
Friends of paces, if not the autonomy of she's
With the wit we see, in the damning air, a confessions turn
Of suggestion into a lived some, a place for a question of me's...
Was a harrowed silence, ours, for shrewder eyes in the earn?
The sacred second, coming of age?
Run duty, to the simple embrace of the sun
We remember the hope, the sincerity of love's wager
It's very soul, on a chosen peace, found in the steps of a common one
We, never were...
A habitual concern of voice and flesh, that taken share of need
Has come to heed, the arduous as a way with essences fear
To make the statement of a day, meant for greatness in the eyes of never's reach?
Alone in the world, without a loving God?
Half and notion to loosen the curse, of our problem with paradise
Which to fore, and whether to war; is life a question of love's laud?
Found in the heart, where a mind never saved the wind, for a friend wiser...?
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 12:03 PM UTC
The sacred second...
When the wind has caused, a champion's roar
To the eave's of love, hap and skew, in the eyes of a pout's demon
I see myself, with a reaching privilege, to these the soul soars
Martyrs and deliverance, in the field of guest's asking if worths fire
Is a fire of rolling imaginations, and the mythic patience's of come?
As the lucre of our stillness, waiting on winds our of denial...
Lips of choice, if not solace, that has history's shoulder, for won
Friends of paces, if not the autonomy of she's
With the wit we see, in the damning air, a confessions turn
Of suggestion into a lived some, a place for a question of me's...
Was a harrowed silence, ours, for shrewder eyes in the earn?
The sacred second, coming of age?
Run duty, to the simple embrace of the sun
We remember the hope, the sincerity of love's wager
It's very soul, on a chosen peace, found in the steps of a common one
We, never were...
A habitual concern of voice and flesh, that taken share of need
Has come to heed, the arduous as a way with essences fear
To make the statement of a day, meant for greatness in the eyes of never's reach?
Alone in the world, without a loving God?
Half and notion to loosen the curse, of our problem with paradise
Which to fore, and whether to war; is life a question of love's laud?
Found in the heart, where a mind never saved the wind, for a friend wiser...?
so, who puts a golden thumb in that which we want time weighed, fool?