And so they came like the seasons come and go but never yet they never leave like clouds. Once more they came to feed, bound to the sky. They walk high above the sea. Doubt escapes them only to be captured naive, lost and tainted by the unknown disfigured by the restless void. If beauty was to be chosen by individual I would chose you as my own. Patience and perseverance wished the years away. And soon they will lay, bare themselves to the high tree of treason, bear child to the seasons. For they guardians of the sky, carved in wood their sheltered soul seek refuge, twigs broken and unbroken construct of the minds. Twigs broken from the dandrites, warm they are. All Flesh is grass, and all the cunningness thereof as the flower of the field.
Posted on: Wed, 10 Jul 2013 18:01:45 +0000
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