The mountain is the soul of the skies,
Its boulders skirt the boundaries offering
A little thought to burdensome rocks.
This mounting tragedy interferes and resides
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At precisely the time we marry our senses,
My baths are taken with seals and symbols,
Water has mattered to the beds of solemn deeds,
A water collapses, and an air is a gas of greatness.
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An affable man has a cape on,
Revealing the past about his character:
Pausing in innocent fog so fallacious,
Finding faults with little neatness.
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I shall be golden in admiration for the boastful,
I shall chop the competitors in town once they speak
And sprint to their likenesses, little has been clapped.
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The reality that is before us quietly glistens
From the heart that utters what the words are;
Speech capsizes, thought overrides, as before,
As a real gesture of benevolence.
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Never in the duty of any man does a posture be certain,
For it reflects the return to the world in its entirety.
Names are devils, faces are institutions of greed,
So then fighters fight for ferocious reasons.
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In my mind the inner light is blessed,
Acts fly past for all to the breast,
Letting colours work for the better,
Finding strangeness as a begetter,
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March along time to eradicate the one,
Forcing us into stronger ties, more lies;
This pit of dreams forbids us to mutter,
To utterances of the last sort we prize.
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It is to dismay that perhaps you are in opportunities,
But imagine a time or day when disappointing is good;
Good is the test that scares the soul into submission,
Its good admonishes the evil in the breeding score.
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Determining the sections is easy as lifting cinemas,
The reality of the hidden values is expert and sudden;
The means of young men has ended too tightly
In desks of rightness, liking a sudden danger.
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