Oh Hawf, the burning of ten suns cannot divide the bond we share beyond that of which is incomprehendable. I sat in the windowsill every night strumming a lowly tune on my marrow winded guitar, hoping for thoust safest of returns. The moonlight beamed off the strings as the mellow cold breeze bounced among the folly meadows, seeking refuge from the horror that is betrayal. And as the sun raised high among the forum land, you returned from the land of the lost and the land of the dead. Hold me, as you would hold your sword, our thoust tablet pen, and the world will become whole again, beyond comprehension, beyond the beckoning diction that is rule, and may us walk through the hillside looking for a greener land, amongst the horizon where the moon reaches for the stars and the clouds. As the looming breeze calls our names, the land soon will become what it was truly meant to be. But for now, let us rejoice in our shamble homes, waiting. for the time to come out and be free with the monochrome and the vibrancy that is color. Goodbye, Hawf. For now, the windowsill still yonder approach the goal as the mellowdramatic tune of the guitar still echoes earth.
by the way did you like that
