Deep transition. A moniker of true or false priority. The makeshift assembly of a thought untraceable, skewed, mislead. How can I say these thing? And know where from they arrive? All I am is a pregnant soul. Without wonder and yet still I draw no peace within.
how could I accept these things, these overdramatic pathways? To recognize the fury of contemporary outstretch that makes the things blossom. Over the entrance of engagement, a toxic privacy and common stationary. Feelings of propriety and missed experience. Yet the experience is known only to the philosopher. In his science, in his rhetoric and prayer. The demand for a kingdom of choice….a child for once he is given to.
and the art of dismay or the vessel in this overgrown body. Kind of like that of a savant in a castle hoisting a mute bird. There are no reasons to be that young again. What we see is of high volume and so protect the fathomable with curiosity and flavor. Were we not blemished once? Were we not holding vows to sacred primacy?
could we ever learn what rules we didn’t need to know. There are vanishing points for concerns like these, and they start as soon as they began