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As an attempt, in the most philisophical sense. A line was drawn in the sand yet filtered; Through its etched silence within hand... Amidst twilight with adjective faith will break the mends, It is my hope that someday we will live to understand ~ Through its inner torn desolation marked on its blotted page yet fully intact In its bitter silence shouts filled with laughter in fits of rage; The ultimate decision based on the mere notion of commonplace. Can we ever escape its soul vested trace; Mark the man who is willing to explore hence the opened door, An open door through its billows torn chase; Among its pain a certain intellectualized gain lest I refrain. To count the cost through its heart felt trade; The ultimate decision amidst its fray A cover that was once blown within its sequential way Broad spectrum as an ellusive figure A tree with leaves blowing through its breeze Some may make their beds while others simply lie in it Simply put, we either will make or break our covenant The ultimate desicions within life's means It's a matter of life or death. Count the cost We often will let things fester too long We trust in self to sing its gloomy song We each need a tender shoulder to cry yet find none We often slip away to into its crimesome tide that only blinds some; We sit in idle turn to its words as if you haven't heard We each mix viscious words that know it hurts Yet do we ever count the cost A given sense of logic torn across Back alley decisions made in the dark Having come full circle into its light The to commonly shift toward its gloom & doom A fatal lost story of remorse shall seal your tomb We often get a little frantic in its complacency We then reflect to look inward toward its choiced resolution With a solemn word that was once spoken in the dark Has now come fullest circle into the light A peril vex sort proned into desolation Count the cost when all of reason ceases to exist It's either a hit or a miss? An inward look at harmony marked on its blotted page intact To its sequential hidden beast reality In sore torn displeasure to numb its pain We then look inward toward its choiced resolution Was their a word spoken in the dark? Has now come to the fullest of light A peril vex proned to desolation! Count the cost when all of reason ceases to exist An inward look at harmony In sore displeasure to numb at the influx of weather Yet if we reach inside within its ability to hide Behind the false hidden garb of compromise Count the cost!

Copyright © | Year Posted 2012




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things