(TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

Brothers before an earth creation origin forming it, start of homes of souls thought to sin, begin the tale proclaiming it others living under dark a to life.

Opinions of higher light water state a suggestion, say by a vanity delusion greatest sight, reflecting whole life it this blessing of the up folks it's alright.
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Sun up its flare saw drop, fall it sinking finals rest, scream sounding loudly bursts hidden in hollows call shouted, came dark proclaims its news to all.

Statement it a cry to life warns the voice it issues, creeping it a dreary fear fright it coming it is near, surviving a dark danger to try it effort of animals.
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Poetry, at desires, striking arrows within, declaring out a word, stand say, is to me, a voice heard, that land, a statement of free emotions, scribbled in line, written with wand and bow.

Love it to a calm, high wind breeze, activate this need be set intentions, aimed at a target, slowly pulling a red string, stretching, pull back, direction goes up that flow, low; release: its hum.
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The sun drops beams, caused by downed rays, touch sways that are aimed at the dark ground, destroy displays; set as their visuals; pathway.

A light, a dawn's hark, is to us, a morning, puts on its bark, attacks cave's night, peels dark off the wall, melts hot away; dew in a park.
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You are a needed friend, submit to me, got wisdom in the Lord's trust, wanted companion, promote love inside an evil heart; make decisions about the night's shadows, seeking a beam as my guiding light.

A king appointed to aid others to vanquish evil, save loved ones from a high position and placed him on a throne to help claim souls, allowing him to come to his death: nailed one innocent, them to a cross, folks.
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Life treasure tasks hated such as failing to recall a feature, retain the funds the replacement to uplift cash, to have no job but pleasure safely in a bank.

My duty is to target it is minor, at draining steals this item cutting, reveals faults it stops to pits and boasts a max: ends fear to retire seals final facts.
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"Watch me", flow over it a flower, beyond blow fly in wind spec, high upper gust swirling, befriending a spider below: talks a fly.

"We-e", spin body black frame, turns its spinning, flaps of wings high in the air, rapidly beat at the same time; twins: joyfully game.
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My coming soon to me future: too very near, stop working, viewing the various pits of life, face ending work, dazzled, it's an ace, having no job, retirement, isn't great for me: in a race.

This reality fate has laid a trap, it's placed to bust any man, intending it to kill, cut it's timeless evil, taking a death thrust, rippling this dramatic fear; deeply it shears: in once able bones rust.
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Call me then, when Heaven's army comes nearing upon the low chaos that's beneath, approaches gates reopen, aiming to attack, get ready: assure pick tactics a total victory.

Awake me from a deep nap, then, awaiting I've taken it, releasing my inner Hulk that's inside, providing its approved help for its finish: ending all those spoken lies.
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I need to be there at the very start, reliving that initial beginning, every act performed then; enduring those precise moments projected: coming to understand the time then convey actions about those exact things.

I want to reactivate actions about those tragic events that happened; recalling its tiniest details know the factors creating it: pushing out any reasonable doubt about what did occur confirms the whole evidence.
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Food is carefully placed inside our mouths, by teeth on particles hits racing down long tube walls; traced kits swirling all into fits, dissolving with others, and then tumbling in a pot.

Treats that enter our bodies are captured in tubes, squeezed under pressure into cubes, placed with a set of digested items, eaten: form toxic concoctions mixed with acids, filling up spaces and forming lubes.
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I'm sorry for not being there in this total absence my presence, giving my firm apologies and regrets that I could not make it, passing chance to be and cherish the various things we all love.

Pardon my rude total absence of not being, giving regrets about me not being seated among; knowing I have tried, falling short of that goal: yet ask all my friends to fill the void and carry on.
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I feared those unknown mysteries as a young child that crept into the night; uncertainties thought to roam, not sure if they existed: encountering a glance briefly one, freezing him me helplessly jumping on my chest.

I thought simply as a teen I was crazy, believing in these sick fables which surely couldn't exist, feeling foolish about it and less like an adult holding to these phantom beliefs.
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I want to be completely prepared when things begin to happen close to ready; feeling great nearest the top of my best: desiring efforts to ease the coming of its worst.

War gear, strapped at that precise moment, springs Hell's gates open, seen patiently waiting among my greatest foes to be seated, aiming to maintain a little bit of my decency.
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In the very beginning, there exists the reality of light; opposing it equally was the state of darkness: joined within contained between those two regions, there was a host.

This host between the two states was joined with and assembled into existence, being them as one, living together complete whole as a family, known acknowledgment prior to the structure of a heaven.
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This picture seemingly projected an obvious occurrence; displayed the action as commonly known viewing the various features: feeling deep this strange about cast dread, something just wasn't right.

The picture is a vision of people interacting with each other, moving to and fro about each other, doing normal endeavors: absent myself from sensing all perfect, set ideas, something peculiar.
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Any closed door tightly shut can hold numerous secrets, retaining various items within it to explore: detailing perhaps the opposite to this thoughtfully suggested idea, holding nothing inside at all.

A closed door might open to a room that's totally empty; having space releases one's imagination, yielding it to all kinds of things that can be done within probabilities: roaming views which occupy the mind with thoughts, filling its areas.
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It's a crying shame when your best friend is someone that hates you; acknowledging the deceit of others that are close, betraying your well-being, assured one thing that's fact; by your foe is provided, because of their malice intent up front.

It's totally wrong of me to pick one's worst enemy as their favorite buddy, preferring them completely over those you were intended to love: but this pick, at least, will never alter its aim to cut down on your efforts, having no regrets.
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You'll mostly be unlikely, at any time, to hear any statement from them; no spoken words mention, nor any attempts to communicate: periodically seeing visuals of them roaming about your house.

Spirits swiftly move through your quarters, barely by you or others to be viewed: glancing evidence solely, at moments a blurred dark shadow, questioning you of it whether it was really there.
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I need to gather all my courage, extracting a lot from past times its growing roots, giving me at least a counter-assuring chance to battle, promising the ability to fight back.

I want to be brave, even though fear has sunk deep within me; find some relief of parting from my amounting fears: hoping someone will give me a weapon, so that I can do war just a little.
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