If it seems nice, it’s only because it could be, within the realm of possibility, for what’s allowed to be, so many perspectives, all different, viewing the same thing, it is what it is, because it can be, within it all, god waits and he allows it to be, measured and weighed, sequence, as a poet, I can’t really decode anything, and maybe when something is sinful it’s obvious, not really something you want to let in, in some dark room where there’s everything, what a terrifying thing, do you dare to peak, no seals or denial, broken-head, some sort of open door, that wishes to live in peace, with so many things, what found this place in the abyss, a small cleverness, a human instinct, a person defending, but there’s so much in the world, and in each moment, a poet always looking up, maybe I’ll always be beneath…


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.