Life is a soundless string of yarn waiting to be strung. I can feel the vibration echoing across the abundance. hear it, as it pries for needy fortune nor subjected to deep inhalation. Along with that sigh, intuition manifests through rightful scars. This insights fill up your feminist integral cup and in return blossoms a mothers bussom and a Giants ecstasy.
What is it? asked by the attendant. As she wonders through the sound. Tulips begin to levitate her and as soon as the goats militate the echoes, she becomes radiant of fascination, she kills herself. Bewildered by ecstatic pulchritude and the antagonistic horme. She pulls her self out of the water, thinking she has no ruminative fantasy but the verisimilitude of revelation hindered her from actualization of pure agreement with the Almighty. As a thousand monarchs swim through the gates, A wondering damsel left remained between His depths, pondering why she held her breath through out the progression of ducklings to cowards.
She wonders greatly in sigh. Subjected to more clandestine creatures were consciously necessary. She wanted salvation. but, from what? I would like to elucidate; From limitless intelligence precipitated by life's fortuitous.
She stood and damaged her fleet, she strove at night with the fellows of hell, dismaying her the vine of life. She pierced not her torso but the facade of consternation that she knows life sustains brought before His table of Feast. Multifarious engagement, she was gifted with the Armour, sheltered by the mighty will. She cry's : "She will prevail" and cries more. She walks with erudition of life's nothingness. She is filled with constant anticipation to be gratified. That some day, some day, she will indulge into His duration: A Time to Feast.
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