Dear David,
To move, or hallow, often eases mistakes, where movement hallows or hallowing moves, then all moved forward, and backward tended grip, how one movement in swift decay, would find the slip, the echo of eternity, how silence renders, it eases, one mistake, that everything partake a folly meet, then does folly restart, or a quickened state?
I state, all lost, and one movement slate, I cannot move, yet what state last I cannot see, and the folly, is it all I, in one girl pedestal greet, the lifted eyes, the room paused to take, all flashing findings, education guide, a naked child, with advice to guide, two flames eager, joined with tides, and often a freeze, the freedom knees, one movement forward, is it a walk out, a man ties even, one sip taken, the frown to tend, how two sips, the drips, an old man greets, or a gasp, a bold move, a Queen I make?
Is fortune dignity, or I stripped even, or just one movement tip, a candle gripped night, and caught to bind, and then the pedestal, all channels stripped to movement’s beat, how feet would move, they tender crop, they hunch all dwellings, all flickering weave, and focus how a child twice shy, all channels dead, all definitions sledge, is it meaningful, to move a wake?
How the flute, still vibrates, the item late, yet early, in guidance sworn, a gift of light, a child returned to the night? Or the day as storm, the tolerance worn, how spirit anchors one freedom won, a sip, to see, what a simple flute can do, a sharpened dagger, a note divine, and hands the grip just 9.99.
And what do you wish? A stand? A guitar or harp or motions wake, where quivers shake, their pedestals quake, a note strung, and then one more, and patterns fame, I delay, can I play a new tune, I do make?
A pause, and a freeze, a corridor lacking motion, how a simple drill, in silence fight, can clear the air, one tune, the blood separated young and then held tight. Tightly woven words, tightly separated covens, where one flute bought, in idle retreat, a permission lend, in spirit guidance flame, one finger bright, to return the root, so clear, anxiety, I do hold, then blow. Blow a tune, in hurt a grain, eyes down, then follow ease, a motion rhythm, all lost decay, a frozen corridor, in silence clay, that a spark won, a tailor dripped fun, what decays when all is lost, or hurt flowing past, an echoes flight, a bend in eternity, and the corridor dripping a burning flame, where notes in blame, could shield the eye, and blasted full, how one note flown dull, can even measures two twice blame, in publicity noteworthy, is it anger times greet? Or just a corridor with mindless feet, echoing corridors stolen shame, in history, nothing arisen but a praise to fame? Is spirit so gifted, that one channel, one finger lifted, in guidance seek, would seek a feast, and claim young, how I stand, a swirl sip black tea, a follow up greetings tempting sight, or is it just I, a stolen flight, all gifts returned and then again, a thank you even, how all do kite, their own way care?
Do you want a cane, three points joined, yet five what is taken, is joined in blood, in witchcraft hood? Join, your passion, couple it ease, binding flows, and six points knows to one blows holes, how a channel stem, does crop an eager child, notes cemented his corpse, flute wise, and knowing the patterns of my loft crept lair, one note to begin, is it the heart, or which fallen note to reap again, and follow up the tip, in motion claim, how silence bridges, notes in chains, and just one girl or one note sane, can fold some corridors bleak hid claim. It seems, how freedom stands, a note uplift, is it sorrow, soul to claim, yet no energy left to grind a hood, to wink some notes, or just a little song, on a silent step.
How one hood strike, a priest lift find, a pocket penny, and the heel, do I tend, the peek peer rend, the look back heel, in guidance knell, my name please, across the light, one touch, is eternity bright? How nothing given in notes to flame, a little morsel, is just freedom, three steps, hood, and which step good? IT doesn’t matter, a child reap, and a church a centre gaze in find, delays the mission, and a smile, the spirit works, to one finger wrap. I can do this gig, just a little tap, as child reap spirit frowns anger know, spirit guides, and hope – is it a penny frosted on a path to staff, the dirty pick up, the child a sniff, and permission, back glance daft? I always see, choice to flow, the gifts left on the table light, and the penny steaming, is it a fight? Or a pardon welcome, three licked frown, a pocket later, to spirit, left ground?
How wombs knit low, the eye lit care, the floor one measure, first, then eyes slackened fair. And an old wive grip, her eye light sieve, you found the child then, I do think, he sinned, light forbid, but I folded a morsel in his hand, just to see him on his way, and gifts a little mercy bright, one child in fright, my hands sworn down, the bag held night, and always a lick, to find a coin in passing need, to one child summed, and torn fleet need, and often a purse, another lick treat, you will see my shadow on the eye lit dark, or just prying soft, I do cackle, eternity, I abandon one lick, a choice, I savour fought.
~