Gild Art. Being chief in the desire of mine own heart waxing bolder unto the perfect day. Cornered by a stone I didn't design. Casting mine care and brow on the one who cares for me. Being delivered to a requiem of a dream declaring the next. Be ye careful for nothing beloved mine conscious is your prize.

Mind Of An Ancient. Not centered but off kilter although the Lord requireth a just weight. Ashes to petals reclaiming the carnality in an unspoken word full of abrasion. Seeking only true judgement unto the ever shining day. Rooting and swooping in on a lions den full of a home. Requiring that ceasar may fulfill his charge. Reproving an great name unto perfection. Breathing in experience breathing out an masterpiece. A Hercules of wisdom pulling down every stronghold and power speaking an door of utterance.

Head And Feet. Beloved I am head over heels. Believing in an understated bow of mine conscious of sheer power. Receiving an headband of pure agapfied emotion. Adjusting the acclaim just in case of fools gold in mine office. Reaching for an understanding in mine ever expounded complex of design of development of a pure flower seeking an pistil. Lo, for it is I. And lo, in whom haveth your strength? Beloved I pray. You prey, on what seems to be an endless feast of pure agapfied emotion. Translate an image of grace to an ever elusive love. Beloved, I hath put on mine robe, how shall I take it off again? For lo, the singing of the birds hath come and mine elbows haveth no scrapes. For it hath been said dream dreams people will read again!

Superfluidity. Liken unto myself as unto an unleavened taste of smooth jazz and concubines. Reproving the instruct. Becoming a membrane full if #life in every way that's it's absurd. Denying what may be an ego under false pretense. Reproving the consort. Being as though patient and headlong sprout. Believing this speaking. Reclaiming the prize with mine head down.

Christ God two on the reel. A real old man says nothing. He haveth treasures in his heart. Looking at the future in the wind. Ahhh cycles. They go for me, my lioness hunts. The patterns speak to the dirt. The fisherman caught nothing. He's a loser. My understanding is ancient.