The Writers Voice
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1. This land is mythed by the tide's motion obscured. We travel to address a
universal, by modifying the bolds in abstracts. There's a shade of evidence to
be sown to the sky that holds on to conceal all that's within its reach.
Vulnerability is in every move, to a prism of those who reveal the spectrum. So,
the hangman has a puzzle. Maybe you would like to complete him, but if you
compete him you will only share a name. In the pressure of fold, where both
sides rise, is where the balance is found in life's symmetry.
2. Specific details attract away from the certain points. Minds go black in the
populations, for the pleasure of knowing less. Talk less days drives memories to
the city centre. Hopeless dreams cause the reality. If you could understand the
inside of me, you would find the places that would set you free. The mind is a
machine with the only certainty in time; graceful because of the systematic
change. We break down because we make ourselves divisible. Quiet falls before
the back row. Minds fall to the abstract zone. Generations in pearl because of
3. Lady Bell rings in the good times, smiles in the afternoon, and sounds off at
the darkening light. Sheíll hold the door to closing walls that enter inside.
Her love is all a part of virtue of exchanging hands: that hold the new details
that alter the old. In the distance the carousel of uniformity spins for
infinity, living for the back round of what you were told. The mind that you
have is a placement in time; forever folding the architecture down to before.
4. I woke up net to you, but it wasnít. A scale of property with foreign measure
is my well of deep collection. Rain for the season in my heart of deep
collection. Iím in search of poetry that brings closure. Head for the burrowing
that is dead in the path of new beginning. I donít know about you in
contemplation. Just want to talk to someone that I can dive into. The songbird
breathes through the tunnels. The only time is within us all. Bring me change so
to spear this time. Then Iíll meet you.
5. The world rolls out as skin from the sea. God is all alone with the
creations. And shall we feast to beside our dignity by what captivates
underneath? Birth is given to those who are prepared for it. I know who I am in
my passing, and time is going on through its progression. The mind can't be
received without existence, where existence is life as time is passing. Breathe
out and into creation, for this world is our acceptance.
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