There are things to do that never eclipse the meaning of that sustains, but engulfs all my meanings to deliver the soul that began it all. This is the man of men and lady of men, the beauty that endeavors the life of your soul. This is what love in the finest of occasions that never dreams or rebels beyond the life that you give. Give a life a sense of accomplishment that escapes all, but retains the sense of all matter. This is my hope for the other, the hope that dwendelled in rivers of unattainable toxic illusions. For a mother that breathes the words that lay trapped in my underlinnings. One day it will all end, and then we shall cry to smile. And she will say “To do is all that is, all that is done in hope.” and I will scream in the end “Where is my gate to the gods of law!”

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