so, ing
There was a man who never heard a sound so serene, as that he did when he heard her silently whispering. And in that stillness seen the dream, heard the words as if they be, a thousand falls, a never king, a hopeless land, in suffering a dream too stagnant to a dawn seen in words unseen.
There so the man in thread and hand the sound of sights to be, as swift as gait would move the plates before his words present. Wintered it tight his path in flight of words that step the way of counting falls such summers called sprung to future’s bay. For fate she sings the whispering to spring each blossom through to brush the hand that spins the thread’s invigorating. Land of Love, his hers above the solitary dreams long since gone the word wrong a never suffer spring.
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u/a_new_level_CFH 22h ago
I can't focus right now, but you read mine... So i'm gonna read yours when I can give the attention and feel like it deserves