Stammering, clambering, yearning to get into the shadow of the passing world.  Hoping to hide hoping to abide as closely to the Word as speed and gravity allow. But for now, the pause is the perfect play. waiting, watching, hovering on the backside of tomorrow, escaping detection through making no play.  What you wish to stay, well that depends on the amends and how the wind whistles and bends the grass without breaking.  Forsaking matters better left forgotten then pursued, navigating the feud that ensued. There is no breath in the words held back only silence and hiss and a mild remiss as we partake of the bliss in surrender.  There is no tender or gold nothing to watch when we’re old, nor to be bought or sold for true ownership is proteomic resemblance.

Dressed in black not out for mourning or to escape the light of dawn’s morning but as shield to discovery by night shark.  For in the dark they dwell, the rage and they yell, practicing for hell, the best I can tell.  Conscience follows the righteous mind as clarity precedes evil’s permissiveness and under duress and shy man will tell a tall mountain of tales, of fish nearly caught larger than whales and mermaids grand tails, or black purple sails and seas with no tide.  With a broad drunken grin we were welcomed right in as the parlay depended on password. Once on board the the double edged sword bought us secrecy in the belly of beasts.  But those unafraid are handsomely paid by the answers to the prayers that they have bent knee and made to the God who doesn’t fade from intervening in the meaning of all that His grand plan foresees.  Paid for the birth and for much that its worth gave two-pence to the quarter master for bedding.

Shedding the burden of dream nothing it seems carries with it the yesterday’s density. The mass of sorrow and pain filled pardon have only softened not hardened resolve bread of surrendering concern for peace, pleasure and humble hysteria. It time, the crimes diminish leaving polished finish and gloss from the moss fallen from stone’s catapult or thunder. Lightning shatters darkness but loses grip as it slips to the memory of miniscule moment where the dark seeks dominion. But Light in the night is not forgotten by morning’s homage to creation. Cessation, abrogation of right and measure of faulty weight beckoned with two fold legal authority to sparsity and cause. Put pause to conquest and still the fight or flight to seat before the calm quiet pleasures of a King who gives you counsel.

Yonder the just have burrowed to discover their lost cornerstone, fallen free from the moorings of mismanagement, into the valley of despair and lost recognition. A position for which the basest seek deliverance and shall never be proper home of the righteous. Remember the weather of raucous days of dilemma and displeasure, when you knew neither the countenance nor King. Bring to mind the dross yet more to loss of Motus operandi or fallen features of buildings erected for self reliance. What shall freedom’s motto bring to the castle moor to mystery. With history so bland it demands relief from belief in the motif of forgotten springs, rings and scenery bewildered.