Sheriff
09-03-2011, 11:35 PM
The trees are lined with a silken vial which blocks out the regret from when I was content with life. The rotating blades spin malevolently spreading joy only occasionally during its routine journey through the atmosphere.
Sometimes I ponder at the ship engulfed in darkness and sing to its majesty and scorn at the lust emitting from its bowels yet I question whether I think of what isn't real in the world of what is not unreal that blocks the black box from spreading its knowledge throughout the world.
Yet there is hope for the great oak still stands in the robust meadow,perhaps not as mighty as the elm but ever so gallant and immune to the lust that is the world.
tl;dr
unb&:trem:
Sometimes I ponder at the ship engulfed in darkness and sing to its majesty and scorn at the lust emitting from its bowels yet I question whether I think of what isn't real in the world of what is not unreal that blocks the black box from spreading its knowledge throughout the world.
Yet there is hope for the great oak still stands in the robust meadow,perhaps not as mighty as the elm but ever so gallant and immune to the lust that is the world.
tl;dr
unb&:trem: