Wet air and buried wealth

PICTURES OF GODS BEAUTY

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WISHES OF THE WEAK

The air is wet from the steam of yesterday's tears of God

Like ants we bury our wealth in the ground

Longing for winters cold touch to wrap us like blankets of hope

Hope that life will some how slow down like water turning into ice.

STOP.

Freezing we ache for warmth and suffer the days of wishes come true

Because we can do nothing to time but watch it flow by.

Sometimes fast...sometimes slow.

But always moving

CONSTANT

Like organized chaos

Always wanting to die yet never pulling the trigger

Never the less, death is not the end

For HE has risen to kill death

To slay him with HIS mighty hand

And to rain down HIS tears to drench the wicked.


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