Riding in trees, 

Falling off treatise, 

Gendering yearning souls, 

Trying the caste of cells, 

Postering high miracles, 

Failing fall of deceit, 

Heightening perceptions of kin, 

Tarnishing the value of holy waters, 

All a mess of hearkening souls,

Gathering from meaningless graves. 

Bestow these prayers, 

Hundreds of naysayers, 

These lights hold my ignition, 

I hold no such covenant,

Therefore no meaning to bury;

All meaning has to carry, 

Are parries of objectivity. 

p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #454545}
p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Neue'; color: #454545; min-height: 14.0px}