What was it doing,
hungry for the grounds it dared
tread upon, intermittently;
it drew the industry's smoldering breath.
Dare it not attempt
to besiege on we, who hold
the obedience of nature
here, where sky is forced to meet solid ground.
What of this, old wench?
You, who dwells where God did not --
When will the sun pierce these mongrel
clouds, granting us the fevers that we crave?
dude your style of writing is
dude your style of writing is so intense
Thanks haha. I think. Is that
Thanks haha. I think. Is that a good thing? It might be. I think it is. Thanks!
oh yeah. its a great thing,
oh yeah. its a great thing, in my humble view at least. i dunno, your like some uberscholar or something, masterful command of language and metaphor. blowin my MIND man