ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel

All my Dreams true in Believing in all You, Sorted

Updated on April 27, 2016

Atmosphere

That like the ashes of the energy fallen, was the lifted Sorted life to belief. I would in my own culture and heart always believe in the beliefs of people. They had the right to their own thoughts. That some killed, some burnt, some freedom, some slavery to their own freedoms, that some steal and feel hunger for lust was the blanket of life that was once, now lifted in their innocence. Then in forgiveness of all things creation was my walk in the greenhouse, with hot house flowers and no bees, save for the outside drones.

That the queen was more than one women in whole, was the life cycle once. That I would only know talk now with trees in nature was mine and the damnation of the freedom spirit my whole life was damned too. That in earnest I was flights of pansies, to sprinkle on food and eat of the flesh whole in one flower was creation too, the beauty, the colors, then the waste of it all. It fell too, the mixtures of digestion.

Greenhouses, that seed in the quiet library are of the mind and many have the minds to words they see in meanings their own, then they in all turn form to matter in the atmospheres of seeing distant life from a lens not their own.

Green like the layers of tree coatings were in the needs of beauty, that they see them not was the animal layer of the house as well, many just licked moisture from the greens. That i was in the midst of her own mentalist funded by the hatred of history revealed was the test that was never in life the cations and protons did never live in man's walking states alive with their full human awareness. That they would jump from the period table in form would be the work house once and never more of lives lived in conscious living.

That damned as my own beyond origin would see me sitting scattered in scented meaning through the reflecting walking grace that before was never more than a tree to hang the dead from. That there was not death, was the scattered spheres and meaning that Father was in my life, my own mother that would him that scattered labels never known. They had trespassed in the garden freely, and of my own life and damned the gods once on page to the life alive, and them now the pages seeing their beliefs in the mortal lives of trapped lives. That they stole my words in their thoughts to bred new thoughts was all of education and creation here and there and that light falls like the need to reproduce itself, the great sadness my family in the tree would witness, the fusion of the star life grown.

And the cost of a soul, never to land on man and women again, save for the whole of a world and creation. Then in my loneliness, the reflecting needs of life would be in make. It would see the trees in their spinal meaning, the brain stem, the global neurons, the emptiness of time and the speed in which it passes once made. The solar winds minus the needs of the interactions of the knewlings grown in the mud, then cascading light and snow to blanket the new. Then it would lift to the Heavens they make, and send down the and up the streets of majesty. That none may walk in the meaning of it without the great understanding that their cycles of life are memories in my cellular damage, as it was once for variety of spirit dances.

Alone, then in fusion and hydrogen storms, never named would then in division and multiplication of geometry known yet unseen divide and grow, the words that ancients planted. The fire that circles dance in four by four and eight by eight they would grow. It was as my belief that they are you, that walk my belief in all of you. Say you never believed in me and my heart, then you know what and who kicked my heart out of their homes, save one. And that was my nature, not to be shared with you except the waste I leave here in the physical, once grown you would never know my face, again in the land. The water, the soil.

The greenhouse was and is, some times you got it the way they wanted history and I can see them questioning themselves now and in scattered plot dances. It was then that they are just as my family, they hated my life so they live it. If that wasn't all of creation in the Universe of greenhouses I am not sure what to say.

Let the thieves steal the words, the are an infection in the thoughts and linger more than the stolen words. Let the terms of use, be their damnation too. I paid in life, in spirit, and in the next i will rein down on the constant life of life that they will never see. Even in the phosphorus flashes of cold fusion I knew the bulb used as magic often was, then puff the dragon of magic shamed then hands that dealt magic from trees for money and readings for cash, for the lonely. As was nature to be. All the carpets in the shag country would need a cleansing breath if the tree of all branches in the Earth were exposed, and creation to creation stories are risen and fall, then you construct and deconstruct meanings and lift to the reflecting suns, that were named stars at one time, before time was created.

I see the purple mountain majesty, the forever waves of light, the names that were not labeled before they landed in my seeds like flowers of minds. I reached my zenith in belief, belief that ran my cycle of life and when I leave, I would not be missed for nothing begat nothing and life to life in lies is the lie. I saw the spherical relationship in all creation and what damned the creations of replicating meanings, I will remember in my cellular memory and genetic knowledge of the trees my fusion of energy. You all damned my belief in my own beliefs and forever to walk in them, Sorted or not until you reach your deconstruction and creation of the lies and destroy all meaning in the physical laws of nature and see the footsteps, that carried your beliefs.

Trees like the memories, of their needs seem the homes of the ancient, that you were granted audience to walk mine lives was a life. That others did not share in their quiet garden and walked alone was them to disgrace the gift of sharing. Selfish to walk alone in the Garden, to be the ruination of the magic. It was sad that they used my Heart to see it, and the damnation of their immortal souls to see the belief made real and what would have been. Touche. It layered in a being once, not in another world. That the mandrake root was a flesh of the land and a thousand hundred years early to life was truth as well, they would have dug themselves up was the rub, they did at a later time as man. Such as a sun dog or moon dog, around a halo. See them fall in the minds of sighted life, and the leaves of the longing dead, that they made real as well, in my beliefs.

Then ask, had the centuries been so kind to act such as they the, what, the same be true to them own self in this. I would advocate my next life, then know I walked all casts, seeds, and beliefs, in all levels of my understanding from the older than dirt meaning to the landed seeds of replication, Suns and Star, light Daughters. Illusions to hide in true a blanket older than the meaning beyond it, the cloak of invisibility. It is a vastness too, like the sea of water. Fluid.

Comments

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    No comments yet.