WINE AND GATES

Wild Flowers Could Drag It Out Of Years, And Terror's

add it up
thought with sinking feelings, sought
time to remember time, the corner of love
where we are the sigh's of knowing, there is a might to see, ought

odd as brief is a nary to the nod
we have no where to go, but right to the heart
of the matter of sincerity for you, the call to urges had
had like the moments until a fate is reality, a worth in start

panic, promises, and a part...
on the verge of a lip with something to say
this is awkward, but I don't, and the ark of what is heartening
is for us, the meter of kinds, which is found in another way

right to ends, the mar of suggestion
in our have and the able look of knowing the deem
of a ritual tongue and its work as a prophet of itself and all wrongs
to halt but a sinister morbidity for you, is a notion's whim

for me, that was it
the act of upon and the tone of jovial voices for the now
to make a brine or bride in the name of hell or heaven, whit's
of generosity that are the more we know, are for a collective low

for instance, the art of honor under your nose
where has it been, and why does it shine like its brand new?
thought the driven remnant of could and the candor of estranged worlds, we know
the altogether somber response of individuality for the back end of a boot

life, liberty and the last of our ordeals
are just beginning, the prophecy of deed and domain of need
is to a place for a meal of surmiseal and the craving of raging ideals
yet we all know, the war with limits in our belly's, for a question of eden

swallow?
the tired eyes of naked lore, to swear at the now, with a stick of earnest rigors
the taken for owe?
might and muses of virtue, to quell with the repast of nuance that has, per ...

shallow?
your guess is as good as mine, the walking fear of nearer hearts to thee
the moments of urges in the vexation of superior times to allow
the nature of kingdom come, or the voice in its genus, as a lip with a key

add it love
the thought for normalcy in the view of others, to passion was a meager
herald made youth, to keep but the smallest portion of which and worth does
where has the kind of neglect and the soul of elect before, been, if but evil, hears?


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Wild Flowers Could Drag It Out Of Years, And Terror`s

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