Galilee

night had begun to beseech thy wretchedness covered deeply amidst toiling postures craving naught gently i'd withered throughout the infamous meanings according to mark while i'd entered a certain realm surrounded by lost pebbles underneath st anthony's weathered sandals we are but martyrs wailed from an aching voice of a fragile old woman captured within haste soiled by the very nature henceforth seen as cleansing thee earths core bottled just so catering to the whelms of st francis while day redeemed sudden past times for the jest marking the dawn at play lessons folded between creases that behold gravity clinging to crawling vines soiled in indifference why we manage to master the suns ray an yet hide from the moon under my feet noticing an open gate concealing wrath beyond a daunting task measured in pure completeness