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Charles Hice

Rookie (May 13 2004 / Heaven)

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Wordsmithe
The length the men go to to prepare the ending but the beginning is begun with little to none the fanfare notwithstanding the middle entree filled with conjecture the length the men go to to prepare the tomb for the dead the living largely ignored is Stiffly British in origin. Eye think it is some sort of power men perceive to be superior to the dead they do not move they will not hurt the men instead the men may move them where they wish them to be seen to be perceived to be displayed like fish being dried from the nets of the boats of the fishermen of Galilee. The bright red ribbons line the Hallway pointing to the Small unlighted candle lit room the alcove where the body is held in state. While the high seas swell while the white studded clouds scream the names of the dead while who can tell them all to GOD oh Barryemore were you allowed the throne? Will you be mine in all eternity the pathos of the will of mortal coiled. And yet I think you lost to me whether going up or down into the ground or some Christians think up in the Air. We will certainly get no more intercourse while you Lay dead then gone somewhere somehow still lost to me while the white scudded clouds oer the high seas scream out the names of the dead the sea swelling with the bodice of the lucky men the living on the boats rejoice they lived they did not perish in the green the blue oer the Waves letting them obfuscate the power of the living over the longing of the dead. So you do not rise to weep with me so you do not rise. The blue green ocean moved the world it tilted on its Axis to impart the peril of destruction come to some of its outlying island's like Japan. While the white clouds stream the living the waters of the deep keep the listing of all of the dead they've taken Barryemore down to his grave who shall eye play with now who shall be my slave to love who will say my name. The flag is still half mast. God rest the Queen.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 13, 2011

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