A loss for words
By Groshem Wick
On the beravement of my eden I sit, standing abashed and degraded. Upon the very grounds that shook my wake afore.. This beseech is consistant with its telling, like the impelling of stars it only points the way. Tis I that belittles and scavenges upon myself. Like the oak I am strong, my convictions are siesless and it is here that I am alone; addressing the whole within its infinit. Written August 23rd, 2001 © on Aug 23 2001 05:59 AM PST 0 • 12
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"On the beravement of my eden I sit,..."