just dropping by dear...
Will i be alive... before i die... in the holy hour of condescension... will i breathe freshness of defeat... in the unholiness of darkened room... will a burdened heart be seen... round the curve of distress... will warming hands gallop amidst the fearful noon... in the brightness of the sky ways... a soul displays a telltale of distress... a fallen angel down the gory gorge, laying flat on the vastness of selfish emptiness. The voice of the greater glory can only be heard... by the power of... Sign in to see full entry.