Will soul of flame ever burn the eyes,
Melt a self’s demise?
Will soul in frame ever hurt the eyes,
Belt a self’s surmise?
A transition is taken to condition, cursed,
Of submission in cognition flat immersed.
Far away in the Eastern Mountains lies purity
Of an Avatar that doesn’t sprinkle ambiguity.
We never begs for the favors
Of ones who now shears off through flowing!
We never fears all the labors
Of ones who now ares at the glowing.
Martyr… But contrite and sighs…
Martyr… Ready and sober ignites and inflames!
Martyr… For ever and aye!
Martyr… Steady in solar disguise all acclaims:
Damnation gave way to temptations nursed,
Withheld any expectations from the cursed.
Far away....., in the mountains, Air was purity.
An inner river of last rebirth fights tranquility.
The flowing song is lecherous for the nightingale’s reforms!
It freezes all the insects, spiders,lost soul and fruits for the swarms...
To delay revelaton...
When they invented the time resort
To organize and cultivate their residuum,
They forgot to extort… We forgots to exhort…
A stream of consciousness will flow.
All avoids the Fire, but adores the glow.
Supreme, erected Earths will show
A heart of rock covered with dough.
The wheels of light are rolling !around the cloned
But such pure Water shed.. covered all in the stoned.
Unable to redeem We Cross upon pomposity of the bereaved,
Over the souls We looms
A fable froms the stream
A loss of one's sight once believed,
Over the stone obscure.
Over the souls demure...
Imaginations withering resumes...
For I feels, relieves – the beauty never dims Our gins.
For I feel relieved – the beauty shimmer's spin begins...