"tutelage" poems
In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power
* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
So it came to pass at last and sad to know a Timber has fallen
It stood in strength tall and strong for over seven decades
Resplendently toned it spread an uncompromising foliage
Masterly in domain magical in reach attaining untold grades
Humble in origins yet grew with endeavour and knowledge
Distinguishably it cut sway in tundra and in lush green glades
Son of sons of the Land held roots countenancing no crawling
It reached for the stars and danced reasons with every shades
Ran with the sun and sat with owls and vipers for tutelage
Sweeping the very highs and the lows in communal trades
In the jungle of sharks and vipers it be known who's in Charge
A Timber has fallen while the rains falls and blue clouds fades
There's now a mighty hole in the earth and rivers are swollen
Leaves scatter and branches beckon hundreds of onward bridges
Leaving best Princess, flowers and saplings for love and largesse
A notable trunk laid supine free to roam without worldly cages
Odes will enter dancing in guises and tears flow without finesse
A Timber has fallen and dirges will ring out for a man of all ages
Yemessia bows and says Adieu My Senior, we will meet again.....
[email protected].
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
♡><♡><♡
on bare boards
the glit'ring gause
graceful gesture found
an arabesque
an aching pause
apropos to concert sound
lithe lustrous girl
scarce woman grown
pours out her beating heart
to stretch with every
muscle owned
in pain for love of art
pure grace she is
just as a swan
soft white and deepest black
she sways and lilts
her own will gone
on point with arch of back
a strong male
who leaps and soars
stately carriage bounds
to show his love
unto his core
and sweep her
from the ground
no person in
the world knows
the dancer's struggle, care
they only see talent bestowed
as he lifts her in the air
the grueling practice
hour on hour
the hardship and the strain
taxing body til it's empowered
the tutelage of brain
hour on hour
same movement learned
feet bound until deformed
to ache, oh yes, to hurt and burn
'til she has perfect form
but all this pain
which we don't see
is never all for naught
for the roses she will be
for the applause
she's fraught
for when this girl
is on the stage
she will, as a swan, fly
and with great grace
she'll turn the page
and then, as woman
die
soulsurvivor
(C) 8/1/2015
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
in ashes hidden, smoulders god of love
from matted dancer's focus conflagration purely come
continues still perhaps in empty homage
of a sa ta na ma
personage of ((Shiva))
white bones pierce the sky
in upward curtain-seethes of heat
beyond imagined burning hells...
the triad ventures into zero-zones of anti-life,
sands of absolute defeat.
shadow trust imparts
a silent teacher's mantras;
soothing psychic words,
"Bala" and "Adi-Bala"
carry over dunes of morbid thirst--
the gape of ancient serpent-maws
choking dust of frightened, elephantine skeletons
fissured by immobile sun--
their inner sound become cool water of a summer stream
in timeless desert, traverses strain of royal line:
god-fated tutelage of seedling savior,
lightning skill with bow and virtue sinew
shining arms horizon's arid form:
despite begrudging honor kings expect
when offspring given after years
in hard-earned sacrificial grace:
yet still obeisance ends in facing demonaic rage
to which is pitted youth to slay--
despite allay by symbol feminine,
as if to question her abode would conjure her
in dire storm and quake announce gigantic step and hairy gulf--
with arrow sprays destroy Thataka's trident, curdling throat
the slitting of, rejoicing pantheon proclaims heroic,
forever railing under epic breath of tacit page theodical:
"we gave you progeny, now grant us our theocracy;
before your son our asthras lay their weaponry"
.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
Each morning I lie in bed and anticipate your arrival, my awakening, our escape
To the fair ground lights outside the city, and I dream that as we peak on the Ferris wheel,
And, with stars as our witness at this paramount moment, all of Texas comes into view.
Autumnal air ruffles your hair, and I'm reaching for you like always with little gestures:
My smiles, your smirks, my laughs, and our quirks. Mingling at the summit,
A hand brushes slowly along a knee with the smooth reintroduction to an old friend.
Long fingers fumble with need, and it's just you and me distancing ourselves
From our every day studies in distraction, comforted in our mutual procrastination.
With you I catch up on my anatomy and you excitedly review me in structures and railways.
On a train homeward bound, the heat of blood rising in your cheeks and lips
Sends an electric surge to my head and heart, and nerves tingle from anticipating home.
Under your tutelage, I soon appreciate the bridge of a nose finally unstressed by glasses,
The dynamic arches of a worn out back, and the strength of pillars erected in urgency
'Til daylight exposes last night's mysteries, and we rest in our ecstasy perspired,
Both of us finally relinquished from the weight of anticipation for this weekend to arrive.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
*Contemporary
some youth are wary
of the claims of
professions out there..
these seem to wrap
handcuff and chain..
a desperate need
for gifted tutelage
to locate precious
solitude..
knowing then that
each profession's byways
spring from this
place...*
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
A poet is daydreaming – contemplating,
Stale is his entire mind surpassed;
An accomplice confers his realization,
Neither to suffice the fool – disillusioned.
That poet daydreams, dismayed in trance,
‘A truce!’ he barters, on a fitted fray.
Frailty of his core seems definite in stance,
‘Tis anecdote… apparent of dismay.
The poet daydreams of the one he loves;
Severs the sympathy by egoism and contempt.
Scalar quantity of a breaching throb,
Under the tutelage of an infidel attempt.
The writer’s words are never dull, always honed;
Unyielding cutting edges fit for the crockery.
Elusive as emotions – tender as the blade of words sliced,
Thus cuts through the flesh, mind and soul like mockery.
Thus the poet’s mind can never be measured,
Nor does the ability of a man can overcome;
For both come from the Divine – Oh, highly favored!
Poetry of prose, so unique and unstrung.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
there are times
when the thoughts
float through my head,
of you,
and I picture your face as it glows
but from a place of distance
---like it wasn't
less
than
a
week
ago
that we ended almost 4 years of love in close proximity
--- instead,
it's been 6 months,
and with some distance on the pain,
rationality has processed all aspects of the break
and twisted the Rubix cube of my life back into its
solid reds, blues, greens, and yellows.
however,
as my concentration slips in the early evening,
this distance is replaced with what feels like a soft,
slow-motion punch
---not just to the gut,
but through the gut,
twisting my intestines into knots of withdrawal,
my eyes drooping from
AlErT
to
"why does it feel like I've had a death in the family?"
it's like clockwork;
I have a window to work with
each and every morning,
but by 4 PM if I'm caught mid......
-sentence..... in my....
textbook.....
"A History of the Modern Middle East",
my stomach dropping
like
global oil prices
in the 1960's
under the tutelage
of the
Saudi King
Faysal,
every word I read bounces off my irises
like they were tennis *****
and I'm playing squash with the pages.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
she sits - eyes darting side to side,
eating the atmosphere, chewing carefully,
rosebud mouth moist, lips open a space,
hands fidgeting in her shallow concaved lap ..
woman leans forward to stroke wayward
tendril from wide forehead - a sign of excellence
to some just that, to others smart phrenology;
tendril defies maternal meaning to spring
like a diver from top board thrill
to fall once more upon laughing brow,
how young child loves the tickling touch
she never receives from mother -
she who urges piano practice, eight to ten,
dancing lessons, eleven to one,
geography, history and Latin tutelage
with woman ancient her and morbid more,
afternoon alternate curriculum and oboe,
catechism, times-tables, spellings parroted..
when night calls child to sleep,
she curls her softness into a knot, tight
and unforgiving, ******** tears from
sea blue eyes so they weep 'pon Egyptian
cotton sheets to dilute the ***** drips of
progidy’s day by day nightmare..
child needs, child yearns for what she
does not know, kettle drum heart throbbing..
longs to run in meadows mossy bright,
longs to see dirt under sweetheart nails;
in dreams she rides ponies ********
and soars sky, dances clouds, kisses moon..
but then, morning vivid with sane insanity
she wakes in an open cage, in a different room..
rebelled, she did, small fragile six year old;
today, today, today her mind is empty,
hands fluttering butterflies, eyes bright, innocence
faded, but laughing..laughing..laughing, free.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
If you want to make heaven
Marry from Enugu!
You want to be successful
Please marry from Anambra
If you want a complete package
Marry an Akwa Ibomite
They attended finishing school
Right under their mother's tutelage
If you want to raise Professors
Marry From Ekiti
If you want to build empires
Marry an Igbo girl
They push you to success
Do you want to maintain your culture?
Mary a Yoruba girl
If you want to be royalty
Marry a Hausa girl
If you don't ever want to cheat
Mary and Edo girl
If your relationship survived this year
Despite its economic realities
Please marry that one
If you desire a beauty Queen
Marry a Benue girl
If you love good romps
Marry a Calabar girl
Your life will never remain the same
And you will live happily ever after
If you want to be loved forever
Marry your friend and soulmate
Listen to me my friend
Don't go for looks
It will fade away
Don't go for money
Someday it will be exhausted
If you want a good partner
Go down on your kneels
Then, watch and pray
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 2:42 AM UTC
You're the answer I hear
when learning misbehaves
friendship running off around hedges
with rounded edges
calling me to figure out the facts
behind neatly pruned leaves
learning what is covered
when they cease
to scatter and dodge
I follow the delectable hints
to where the giggles grow
louder now I'm led toward
your near indecent scent
the flowers in the borders
wriggle with unbound glee
whilst love hides with held breath
in hidden indents
you dare to press up close
against an idle post
where radiance warms
to a chance find in prospect
expectant that your dalliance
will escape my notice
but I see it blooming in pupils
where love's not faked
I find you on a hunch
in the midst of hesitations
when I tease the bush
apart like two explaining pages
opening answering lips
brimming with wild questions
each kiss a knowing release
to lush and flowing fields
that day that friendship faced
the truth of love's sweet tutelage
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
So familiar the sparks of inspiration about to bloom
Horripilation and several empty soup cans tip me off
My time has come to be prolific,
under the wise tutelage of my angelic spektor
Accompanied by the wailing hormones of pre-pubescent boys trying to sing into microphones
Teacher please, spare a verb? Where the ivy used to crawl up fragile arms sanguine for all intents and purposes
Dear teacher, nothing electronic works in my room anymore
Dear teacher, your students are all ******
Dear teacher, I retain your lessons as lacerations upside my skull
Sweet teacher, reposing just across the hall and sideways a spell
In a coffin of criticisms and carbon monoxide fumes
The love of a generation, a single blue rose, and a jar full of tea 30 years old.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
The process is to accept
The progressive retardation
Wrought by chemicals
A necessary adjustment
Reevaluating meaning
Value and worth
There comes a point when realization dawns
The point where intellects breaks down to the base line of ignorance
Where attachment is severed
The process takes everything away from you
But not before draining it dry of anything worth having
And so the grandest theft
Becomes
The most glorious gift
Of nothing
(This is not easy to understand or comprehend,
It is the chemicals patient handiwork that allows eyes to see
To see and ears to hear
To hear
Without their scientifically regulated tutelage there are very very few methods that work in the 21st century that give them that side car joy ride straight the ribbon of BEING into to prayer closet of Nievana
Those of us who aren't willing to give up the things we attach to
The very things through which we define our selves, our souls, our minds, our hearts and our spirits
Drop them, move on a live without
When you realize you are living without, drip dmsomething else
It is the most difficult thing in the world
Yet by the end of the pilgrimage it has become too easy
Happiness is with nothing
Nothing is a clean slate for your imagination to create upon
This is heaven - wants nothing to do with the world
Process of chemicals and lack of sleep
It's a good thing
Though they who follow the path will be laughed at and scorned
By people who will never understand them
White trash bad *** and Rhoads scholar on the same page
"How can they live if not like us?"
You keep living, it's your calling
We are called to the realm of the supernatural
Where we will create our own heavens
Songs, stories,books , interactive movies we may never die
But if we do we know what we left behind
I wii not find I difficult to close my eyes
Having created in such a grand scale
Albeit with chemicals and ignorance guiding my way
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
The fairy tale I believed in had died,
I cannot rejoice, caged by society and sorrow,
The foggy night, shall you let the moonlight touch me?
Look at me.
Look into my eyes.
Behind these iron bars,
I was born, a child of failed union,
A child of malice and rage,
Pray to whatever God you may,
I shall bring justice
Under the tutelage of the faceless god.
I shall destroy all that deserve death,
Before they destroy all those who deserve life.
I shall bear the burden of sin,
So promise me, shall you live?
Promise me this, and I will gladly live with this nameless monster of mine.
My ears ring with the voices of the ******
Calling out to me to end their lives.
I cannot remember the melody of that day,
When we danced together in sunlit day,
Now the rain shall never cease to fall.
I cannot see anything beyond my perverted notions anymore.
Let the sky rain down upon me black acid rain,
Let the air be filled with miasma thick.
I am a being of rage and hate,
Of fear and avarice,
With the blades with which I killed,
The God of my innocence,
Today I shall punish all those who are guilty.
Accepting the unerasable scars on my body,
Let us ravage the false gods of this world, O nameless monster of mine.
Ah.
This skill, these prayers.
I am the God of unrelenting justice and damnation.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
On The Great Lawn of my mind,
The city's biggest dance floor,
Upon its cushions, stepping lightly,
The spring breeze, feeling its way,
Making, reawakening, a thousand acquaintances,
Absent parent kissing each long-lost babe-blade of grass
Breeze takes each blade of spring grass:
Cajoles, asks not,
With windy hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes
Breeze makes each one
Neck, caress their neighbor,
A thousand pas de deuces of
fresh faced green children.
All in all a triumphant processional,
Cloaked in robes of sky blue velvet,
Crowned by the sun's burnt orange kisses.
At the middle school dance,
The walls are portrait painted
with the shy ones,
The ones-who-don't-know-how-to-ask.
Passover's children
Needy for a Moses.
Student of the spring breezes,
This silly earnest teacher/chaperone,
Grand-pa-rent will:
Cajole, ask not,
With hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes
Under his tutelage,
Every boy and girl
A dancer, a blade,
Each a Passenger on the fuselage
Of his Spring Ballroom breeze.
These are my spring rites
imagined,
Visions of my sight
unimpaired,
Present and future
clarified.
Soon we will teach our own
Little Princes and Princesses,
The shelter of dancing,
Feel the embrace of nature,
Under the mantle of an
A Capella choir of tree leaves,
We will lie side by side,
Skyward pointing,
Sharing our spring-sprung imaginings,
Performing each and all
Upon the breeze to carry away,
For all to gleeful applaud!
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
My name, his pupil screamed across the room.
The coarse pages of a New York novel stitched into the binding of my grip.
I am a waning willow under grey skies. The unnerving stillness of chest shatters amongst prose-dripped conversations. Am I ready to? We race to a cab.
We arrive, and in a nearsighted exhaust collapse into plastic-skinned chairs. A hacking congestion echoes between the walls. He stands and as he speaks, I feel his words wrap over my shoulder and then around my waist. Our embrace is an Orchid. As he exits I long for our next season.
We are unabridged lovers seeking vengeance against the moments which separate us. I escape to the tutelage of Jacques Peuchet. I learn the weight of a love born sword, and yearn for the ink to write us away from this moment.
I step out to pavement with Summer's gentle breath igniting the hairs of my neck. I follow Orchid ink veins to a break in the sidewalk. Coddled in the concrete, a pen. I am reminded of the discarded decorations of the blinded adorning our space. I see our future, in beautiful color: The vibrant friction which pours ink to page - dreams stained into their threads.
I return to you my forever, so we can watch our love spill across an enternity of pages longing for a pen.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
I once reached into the skies
to pull down the light that
would serve to guide your way.
I was never asked.
I once tender hard labor,
and the lashings of crooked teeth
and stained shirts
to find for you the bauble
you so requested.
I grew old under your
careful tutelage,
until such an age I reached that
the hair grew thin and the
spittle became obvious.
O' the wonders you found in me.
I was such a shell
in the time before we fell,
cradling each other through the shakes
like new born babes,
to the Earth.
Together we found lost
realms which we would hide away
from keen eyes and pointed
questions.
Together we squandered our
time and our money on things
we called our adventures.
If only to smell the sweet
lavender and honeysuckle of
your skin, freshly bathed.
I once crossed a canyon on foot,
such days of thirsty work,
to bring you back the sunshine
we would rub into our smiles.
I was not asked.
I once learned the quick, dutiful
motions of a trained glassblower
so that I might make for you
a thing as beautiful and fragile
as yourself.
It is here, as the skies we once reached
grow dim that I find,
after all the effort and all the
painstaking labor that,
together as we promised,
our greatest work is rewarded.
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 10:21 PM UTC
Hmm...voila!That was the moment...
a minuscule moment yet it elicits and engulfs eternity...
To be in that moment is to have lived eternity...
Eternity engrossed me....her eyes are ardent architect of nature...
When I see her eyes I am vulnerable to her....
The consummate of air,flesh, water,fire...
Is the source of her eye,
A complex subtlety of life,
But what I see is the eternity,
The eternity that is encapsulated in her eyes,
What an ardent architecture,
only under her(nature) tutelage it could have been possible...
The zephyr from the air,and the water cascading from the bucolic mountains must have metamorphosed themselves with the verdant life on the earth to emanate such eyes:eternally evolving.
I am as enchanted as I could be,
Letting my life unfold itself with her gratifying glances,
Those glimpses of the eternity reverberates in me like the thunder,
Ruptured from the nature,
blossomed from the beatific earth,
Ensue:she is bearing the fruit entitled eyes...
so then an endeavor excursion of my sojourn had begun....
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 4:47 AM UTC
today, my friend,
teach me in the ways
of joy,
i have had lessons enough
in sorrow,
i do not desire to learn the ways of anger.
so please, teach me joy.
i promise, i will learn,
with thoughtful, thoughtless abandon.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
Although my reflection holds me physically accountable , 'tis with graduating , certain unstoppable effect of age that every striation upon this weary face would recall a bittersweet poetic page , life's prose under the tutelage of a senescent , life schooled man at peace with his looking glass ..
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
Some people lead halcyon lives
They tend to speak with soft, quiet voices
And enjoy watching clouds go by in the skies
They desire making small, inconsequential choices
They watch the world whirl around then with awe-filled eyes
Others are the polar opposite,
Living their lives with temerity.
They prefer to never rest and sit.
They carry out decisions boldly
Their mentalities are filled with sass,
Causing other personalities to clash.
The fortunate ones have tutelage,
Knowing how to act civilized and polite.
But being able to justify the savage
They have sense to avoid a fight
But I, I am what they call a mess,
Unlike the peaceful ones, or those with boldness
The way I think is seen as madness
My opinion is not one that I scream,
I'm just avoiding the scene
I'm merely an anathema,
With a queer persona
I see what others do not,
That's the only difference I've got.
For I am philistine,
Shunned by the others, it seems.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
Black and blue striped leggings,
A small white shirt with dangling hoop earrings.
This is what she wore on a good day in my mind.
Quite the opposite of what I saw when I opened my eyes.
Watching the moon sail across a ocean of stars, the brilliance of stars.
A everlasting testimony.
Regardless the size of the waves that come crashing down.
She shone the brightest.
In a language thats misunderstood all around the world, would she understand mine.
To participate in such tutelage, what joy did I hope to accomplish.
Searching the inside of my eyes,
Considering the brightest twinkle in the sky the wink of her eye.
Releasing the silence of fear in a hopeful sigh.
Without hope of the day, I kept her hidden in my dreams.
Soon realizing the crash course of broken dreams, waking up just before the good part.
As vivid as she appeared when my eyes were closed I believed anything was possible.
Looking to the stars through a telescope, seeing her as the one that shines the brightest
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
I’ve never ‘got’ football,
always felt like a bruise
I wasn’t sure how I’d got
or a changing room joke that involved
small ***** or arcane bullying
Perhaps my tutelage was bad
but the pattern in my head
is gammon woven
with misogyny, bigotry
and misunderstood pride
But these boys,
with unhappiness and graft built in,
with ‘other’ credibility,
broad shoulders, tough chins,
make me think that with my time again
I’d have listened
So to them, I opine:
you’ve earned a win,
and have one
Jul 11, 2021
Jul 11, 2021 at 9:38 AM UTC
I will never have good financial standing.
My wallet must feel besieged,
Like the sacking of King’s Landing.
Money just flies through my fingers;
Like the angel of death,
Bankruptcy always looms and lingers.
I spend it on escapades and exuberance,
On journeys to escalate my studies of life,
To forbear nothing from its tutelage.
I will never have a peaceful, settled life;
No 2.3 kids, no doting, darling wife.
Neither will I have a Golden Retriever;
No picture-perfect moments,
No Instagram photo captioned ‘she’s a keeper.’
I will go the edges of the world;
I will unfurl hammocks, as the jungles get deeper,
As I hear the whispers of life,
And my ears strain to listen like receivers.
I don’t care about losing either of those prospects;
Uninteresting endeavours, uninspiring projects.
To me, only love deserves mourning;
It is the primer of all things,
The driver of all of nature’s calls,
The reason why the mockingbird sings.
That must be why my heart can’t stand the quiet,
Why I’m like a viral riot, an epidemic insurrection.
That must be why I’m mourning an unrequited connection.
You are everything I will never have.
I will have an empty heart, and empty hands.
If it never happens in this life,
I hope I’ll get to see you again in the next one.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 3:44 AM UTC
Order to chaos, at a glance?
As a wholesome venture, of what we pronounce
Is adding the white of the eyes, an all of influence?
Has come to the fore, and shown the doldrum it haunts...
Peace and a real thirst, for a clue in the wry...
Sated with the coming hours, of decency we meant, will
The provision of seldom, toured and biased in courteous, shyness
An angel with passion to earn and each, insists dread, still...?
A place in the heart of civility...
A face asking the table of conscience, to look for the irony
Oft tutelage and their solaces, a penny to spend on originality...
A faith in the unknown, we reveal is fright's epiphany?
Voices we have heard, that made the point of a lifetime
With range and devotion to verify, the elucidation of meagerness?
And its boding history, the total of enumeration in the face of trying?
And the fertile now, and subtle distance to weighing the opuses we elect
Alcohol and judgments character?
Instinct is a shrewd contender, for what was a world of significance
And alarmed firsts, to the longest visit of intuition, or its faring?
A method of uniqueness, to show a calm of whimsy that is a seasons chance...
Meted reasons with a clash of simplicity for you...
Tales of reproach or in defense of totals, the schemes of things
Looking the part and petition of suppose, the tear we reveal is, due
The hands of antipathy in vice and demeanor, the identity we saw, become a meaning...
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 9:07 PM UTC