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"hymm" poems
Butter remained in the dish even when liquid.  An even was the end of the day.  Prophets raised on corn flakes were more then or loose crunchy.  Seven days were not remarkedly adventurous in IT.  "Am Eye Ah Clnoun?" or,... "WHAT!" The dude er romulynn, stood up and breached a sword across the mouth of every line of miss oh genius phret.   LYCANs actually have a bagg for Crete, a steady lie to put the tooth into. Jesus is from Cremea'. I said it.   Noisy as 'He 'will' be in here, nice day too. The butter stayed in the dish as a liquid.  But hot enough to melt butter.   I said it.   Enough proclivity to trace 50 cal rounds, cleaverer than that, and totally was walken on water.  *** a matter of fact, do not lie to me, I'll help hymm.   I said it. Have a nice day.  Maybe a better written one tomorrow.
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Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
Better Day
Thee gnome had called hymm mein flatterer, then an ape fight for quills, to be or naught, hidden by a hive patch of bramble.  Do ordinance iris search of apart theorhetic sea, Adeiu mostly, can wearwolves as sultry be known to chew rawhide bones teethlesslee.   Gather by a dared deity of A Roman's antiquity, all of course to femine posterity.  An Aye for Aye, a sythe to seize do naught ii and cling.  For better is yet to OyYea' and I, causes instantly be and bee.     cliche toupee'
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Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
Hard Witting
Stargazing cactus bloom desert daydream skipping salted stones lost highway The Mojave a light with fire flowers road side decor for this age of weekend hotel floors arid breeze kissing us dizzy gambled, addicted visiting Mirage down in the valley below city glow dark hair, light eyes foreign tongue I love you so Sweet tequila lifted above the ground spin me, spin me, that gleeful aquarius sheen you're amazing you're a light in my life, Casino Moonshine switching gears, half eaten diner meals roadside pitstops for broken windows whistling wind like a gilded finch. Joshua trees from over Nordic seas soft skin getting lucky 7 spins tingling touch dark lidded lust euphoric hymm it's him it's him it's him orange sky brusts bright in my tired amphetamine eyes
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May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC
April on the Casino Floor
Slayer plate time Quest heart ways, let hymm birds birth Eye glisten turn toward stary set' letter Ethers bedding point mother hue gowns bones lurch Grave gracious bed thee warrant trim sent fetter wake to thee ceiling gold adorns regretter tis nor en-earth en-holy slumber ****** lay'er postion whence kit kist steady tremble
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Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
Necromancer
Is the law then against the promises of God? God forbid: for if there had been a law given which could have given life, verily righteousness should have been by the law. Gallantly, reading the promise if though the hero's that hold the sacred rose. The cape, red and gold, the legend of the Talamud of old. Bowing to break the silence for to tell the bull is the raposte of the craft when he snorts he guffs scratching the surface of the grave. Braver and bolder than the resting lore holds the written tall lyric of how bull fighters speak to solem vows. Did he or didnt he warn the few as the crowd revels they reveal the truth. To live or die by the horns they hold. A small last dance to the left and right the swirling the sparrow and the robin know the footsteps between the audience throws the steps to flight the steps to debt. In between his teeth he reveals, the color of the flower to place on the stones. The bull or the hero lies here. A few turns a few lies, a few more moments before the bull dies. To the clarity and chagrin, the fighters are the audience who hold no pen. They stream to hymm the very step, the very step for the win. He snorts and shuffles, looks to the crowd the bull now knows he is to die. Choosen to write the score of the mused sick audience sore. And to these days there are laws that exist to protect the fortune of the bold. Authority, sword, word in hand, and by law of this land do we save the bull because we are colder than the bull's sin. Trampled or true the bull is free untill the bull fighter meets the crowds revelry.
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Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Gallatians 3:21
Is the law then against the promises of God? God forbid: for if there had been a law given which could have given life, verily righteousness should have been by the law. Gallantly, reading the promise if though the hero's that hold the sacred rose. The cape, red and gold, the legend of the Talamud of old. Bowing to break the silence for to tell the bull is the raposte of the craft when he snorts he guffs scratching the surface of the grave. Braver and bolder than the resting lore holds the written tall lyric of how bull fighters speak to solem vows. Did he or didnt he warn the few as the crowd revels they reveal the truth. To live or die by the horns they hold. A small last dance to the left and right the swirling the sparrow and the robin know the footsteps between the audience throws the steps to flight the steps to debt. In between his teeth he reveals, the color of the flower to place on the stones. The bull or the hero lies here. A few turns a few lies, a few more moments before the bull dies. To the clarity and chagrin, the fighters are the audience who hold no pen. They stream to hymm the very step, the very step for the win. He snorts and shuffles, looks to the crowd the bull now knows he is to die. Choosen to write the score of the mused sick audience sore. And to these days there are laws that exist to protect the fortune of the bold. Authority, sword, word in hand, and by law of this land do we save the bull because we are colder than the bull's sin. Trampled or true the bull is free untill the bull fighter meets the crowds revelry.
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Down cobbles rose garland sways still sweeet fox pollon seep down alley ways exhaust for-seen resource in shadow wisk e-hers tinber lit darkness - ray-linear Ultra violet ultra steep o wains and candles tis summer gleam & beneath tomorro unseen O castle ablaze let side leave wake till dawn day breaks drawn arrow Sea Aparts nor seperated dose stars leaves flower beswayed fairy rings set... pon cusion Jestered not geer'd ad-sole speech Healerrs only hear to kKill And angels hide in coast drift demons and darkness impervise light Sweet to kindle Awe lonely hears swoop and fain in wistle of nestle math to flame crossed goldenfields than adorn & Spaninsh crux+, shall meet morn settle anew conflict will decide on hieght brother conduct fist to system a sword yours Shall swing on daymakers eventual deprive bell to chime and hymm see rise & yawns
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Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
GO+ your
*Its sunday morning. outside the open window church bells lilt an old hymm. i am wearing your shirt again sipping a coffeee. All seems familiar even your smell is with me. It is the only thing that brings me comfort since the sickness won the final battle. I pick up the telephone dialing our number again and again. Just to hear your voice once more. I savour every nuance and inflexion of you. for a brief moment you are with me again. And comfort falls like down feathers. you ask me to leave a message. i whisper i miss you honey.*
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Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
Voiceprints