In primal order of the stars.
Turn the very bends of space.
The by-product of super neutrality
of wax body faces stuck on grinning.
The folds are made of genetic posterity.
To hold up a floating glyph.
Turn the very bends of space.
Into the abyss of the desires.
The sentinel of this world.
Was stuck in this outcome.
The entertainment of the end.
Still beginnings remain....in a world's worm
that digs the word out of the body.
The red from the apple.
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Author:
ReflectionShadow (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 25th, 2018 23:02
- Category: Spiritual
- Views: 8
Offline)
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