I know that the ways content has arrived are genius. And, that there's more to come. I know there's only so much time in life to be creative. What is enough? And, when we seek something from our efforts. If all should turn to glass. How can we take all we know and find sense? What measures of offense have been taken upon us when justice is in our hand. It's truth that sets those free whom freely come to understand. For as we stand earthly children we can not know lest we seek the education.
Assurity is documentation. And, even in the statement an ironic truth. Whom has come to propagate and whom has come to defy propagations left by those whom abuse their tools? Many questions with riddles in poetic meter sustaining sensibility. Had it been for assurity in documentation there would be no plastic and glass questions to haunt suspect that none are immune to offensive hacks. And, should there be some of the known 2,900 carat in my hand falsely identified or actually coated in plastic. Perhaps, the break of the bead is the need for the mohs to first see a coat of fiberglass removed. And, would it be crazy to think that good enough for a Czar is surely fit to have found it's provenances resulting with your delivery. The haunting of slavery and freedoms be found. In all the world we should find our way a way to accept unity and be up for all's improvement. The alliances with truth is to accept that a bead could be plastic and not so rare. With reason to suspect broken glass on 10th avenue has never weeped clearer.
There it's time to move where aspects of avenues change ways for abilities that were previously offered. And, whom should sustain all that's washed away in hands of control bestowed to another. Reach? Time is of the essence. The castle is the goal. We seek a place where bells full of light can sound our way home. The fish outside the tank with glass all suspecting. It's easier to travel if it's plastic. I suppose all things are lovely. What truth is in a bead whom has no counterparts known aside beyond 2,900 carats and a chunk weighted by museum protection. We hold our golden things with such a hand that strikes emotion when it's the only we've to love in full. The cost of treasures lost by false identification are merely meekness shining through the alluvial landscape mistings. Frost at the tip of our morning and the sun shall chance it's traverse into the landscape. This hill high above all the world around has home for all inclement condition. In the frost of winters greatest chills our world is manifestation with avenues of destiny to fulfill. Unto the step that takes us back where we belong. To fill the world once more with chance that our glass isn't all but lost.
It's a flower for replacing and a harvest for reeping. The last of things we would think to part with becomes the first order of our daily thought. If we are you and I. And, I is one whom has not waited. Instead, I've carefully traced the steps. And, with content seek reformation as a comfort zone. This world is honor within the nest of those whom have ignorance to sort. Upon noblities acceptance it's not me that shall beg the world offer love. It's love that shall be one in faces adored long enough to have only an adults scar. For the ground is softer than the rocks which sometimes contain a small fortune.
The communities everywhere have seen me come, flower, and think to cut the rose. And, perhaps it's will to be covert or discrete. How does one know the moments of their defining. Execution in action is one that arrives with goals set forth to meet milestones with grace. In order to accomplish anything seeds must flower. The preservation of our annual or perennial has planted reason by way of adornment. Without a sparkling thing this glass is more than all things should it define love. With all the heart in the world intercepted by devices flawed. It's no wonder the prettiest blues and golds have found their way into the abyss. No more should the mind worry when authentic is the price that might restore one's freedom. A test in project isn't cheap. The fear of compromise at every turn. What class of individuals usurp are often foul with their words. What class of individuals arrive for the salvation of all that is great. Those are the class the preserve the sense to stay hidden in a countryside more beautiful than all the world.
"Take me to my fatherland."
IF AN EGG CAN GET MILLIONS OF LIKES ON INSTAGRAM HOW MANY UPVOTES CAN THIS POST GET ON STEEMIT?