Strangers and foreigners

A book of memory infused with the way we were.

Besieged.

My Birthday in 2015.

Turn of the my age, my head is filled with Religion Science-Fiction and Technology. Pop Culture maneuvers my path and my conscious is Western risings and all my senses are directed to Empire states of mind and my path is overtaken by expression.

Found guiltless in the condones of the world i form my language to the dictates of media and always remember America as a never faltering power-house. 

My Sanity.

Fashion my Destiny.

Evil Forebodings.

The Tempest

Crescendo.

ever present to the dictates of self consciousness (i think about what i think about) and made to live and staying alive in the spheres of cultivation (i obsess about future effort) i eschew the dominance of quarrels (i have to solve the disquiet) and straight point the sounds of my song and soul (Inspiration and eternal beauty are a per-occupation) to a reality i could never readily make present (Heaven must be near). i find more and more the absence of sound a drain to the perception of deity (its God seeking me to sing Him to me.) I crescendo the lofty ideals of eternity and beauty.

Resonance.

He's my Savior and He knows it.

meeting with a destiny that i had no name for
 and living with a destiny which is a name of
 i met my true match in the hands of a Savior and could not find escape in my Jews face of glory
 i had made no intentions of knowing but found state intentions to be known
 i had no purpose to/in life lived at given propose
 yet  found a proposition in a Jew who asked me no favors but for us to belong to each other now...

 i do not need a lie to cover for my substance, this is Jesus Christ.

I thoughts of Gladiators and Athletes once.

A Prophets miry clay.

I am giving up my allated space and my God ordained phrase to a crisis i never had met and a delegate i could have never forseen i searched for new phrase and could not find the shared face to my memory and all i have to collect is burnt in the deep foundations of Archives.


Remember the first books of Isaiah

I mispelled my sanity.

I forgot my post box address, i needed the landlord to re-collect.

An epistle about the losing of keys.

She would sigh "Thank you Lord" once she held them in her hands.

I have been losing keys.