Stemmed from the previous post… The idea of finding what we want to do without restrictions. My want is to have a life where I write for people. I am not one to view myself so much as a recording artist, even though that’s how I want to monetize something that I’m good at. My heart still calls out to the grout, and though the tender sprout cannot contend with some who wish to tear it out.
The spout of this post will be find that there are some people who remind me that there are kinds of things that divinity brings that holds up the wings of the angels. I call out to the heavens about the grout that I wish to be. To be one to find the master key that will set hearts free into the sea to find and share and grow glee and joy.
I want to look into the eyes of my baby boy and see their gladness pervade, even when cast a spade. We wade in the waters of Earth and find the birth to be the beginning of how we shall have used the plough to tend good seed. Should I find and send and heed from the intuition, there is a plan beyond my own comprehension. Held in the suspension of time and space, we may find the rhymes replace the trace of the aura.
Flora and fauna find the kinds of things that divinity brings. We have been told many a notion that will help aid and deepen our devotion, and though the potion has smiled upon the dawn, Ron still may not note that the boat is carrying more than many a few. The link to Penny too holds the Savannah away from today while I find and wish and pray that Zayne too will maintain and keep the sanity in the tears we’ve wept.
I have kept well in this Earthly shell, and note partially well that there is so much more to tell you of True. She is one who called my heart across the landscape of time, even if she wishes not to know me.
The synergy holds me in the meld, and though my daughter is held with love, the drops of saline are in between the letters like warm woollen sweaters. There are some who are far better than I of sharing themselves and the reasons of the sky, yet still I shall apply and improve past the fast current of thought and find that there is so much more that God has yet to have brought. A knot to tie, and though I cry out not to the plot or plan, the idea of my gal to find me as a man too is in the dream of how the worlds must work together instead of competing like a team.
The horse’s force’s is in the situation that will aid and nurture this notation. An iteration of my own lack of profession and vocation is also true that I want to write to some people who will need or want to hear what I can do for many more than a few.
The stories that are written grasp and hold onto the imagniation that Harmony had found… yes not the imagination that is bound, the misspelling is something that shall correctly be wound around the thread. I thank Zayne again for what was left unsaid. Instead the tones of the strings find the divinity that clings to me like the seed to nourish the tree. A form of water to find The Spirit through me and what I key. I note that each person may not have always been here, though carry forward to edges of how we are and what we will be.
I thank God for the core of my life. I may not show or have enough of a belief in Jesus to call another the son of my daughter, yet still the ideas of the potter hold the clay and find that there is a kind thought brought forth from the North to the lines of the spines the mingle and meld. The weld holds true, while some people like Matt also show the crews that focus on the bus of life. We each find our soulmate.
I ask God to open the gate to my mind and spirit and soul and heart to make sure my body stays alive to speak and hear and show the parting of the ocean’s rifts with gifts that have been granted and given. The ideas have slanted me back to my Shivan. Though we are living well, the oath to both too shall find me tell the world that we each have much more curled within ourselves to share than just a group of seven or four. The open door too holds the score and how there is a war that we each contend within our hearts.
The parts of the key shall show thee that there is a flow to be. Please make certain you open the curtains to the next stage. Find the text of a mage in the consect’s cage to free intellects into the view of many more than a few who will find the lines to express and renew. I press on and though the waves of the thought that try to draw the plot like connecting each dot. Selecting to have brought towards the chords of our grave. The idea that Jesus will save also may pave the road and boat to the scapegoats that some want to use, for the facts that some too cannot be solo or part of crews. The fuse on the dynamite might insight the sparks to the sharks like a requiem in the hem for those lost at a cost of everything and nothing. Let us each bring the ideas that we know we are to ping the king across the spacial folds.
The moulds of the bold case shall trace space into the cues from spaces in which we hold. To fold up the idea into a Korean bolt. The Colts and the moulting of how then will be now.
Shed your past into the plaster on the wall and paint the ideas like Saint. I am not a master or a holy daughter… I am a ponderous and desponded bundle of us who find Canibus and the sands of God.
We have been told to cement the foundation upon the rock, and to walk with Jesus, though what if it’s only just us here along the shoreline where the signs hold on and have told that Jon also knows that the shows are for the doors to open and close on hoping for a yellow rose. I cannot show exactly how well they have held the tones of the voice as a choice to give praise and amaze the rays of heart into the certain start that calls deep to impart the facts of God’s pacts that have been promised. They kissed the forehead and let their child fall peacefully into sleep in the fact that their parents stay wed.
I have said so much and so little. I cannot show enough of how we are to be tender like a vital choice to rise up and share our voice with the sweet people below the lines of heaven.
I thank You also for letting me know that we are to help tow along the songs and right our wrongs. The throngs of everything and nothing that call Jesus king also bring the ages to the pages and sites where some share their own Contialitic rites that shall remind each that there is a deep breach of who we cannot be; Something they can, and cannot see.
The tears stream into the river of life… I still know not my wife, even decades later. Will it be the case that I will ever be able to replace me with her life and love with something that will find our own kind of joy that I need to seed from our boy.
Thank you God for allowing me to thrive, and though I still don’t know to whom I should go, I thank you again for letting me know that the hearts will hold dear and land in our beings like freshly fallen snow.