Class
If every little energetic seed danced about and sprang forth, there would be blood upon every key and they would wipe your wounds without thinking about themselves. Blue nor red would intrude and every echo would let your heart know that it was justified in beating with the rythm. A sleight of the masters hand with graze your cheek and each will twirl until the grace flows out of each tendril like a waterfall.
Four bees weave a honeycomb for the woman while she sleeps, leaving a subtle gold for her to run her fingers through, for the sun to caress and the wind to waltz with. A bed of flowers rests on her right, each indentical petal opens its mouth in anticipation, avoiding the needless eye and showing the reds and the purples to the gaze of a lover. Three dancing lilies intertwine over her head, sobbing to one another and offering a depressed light with each wave of her unmoving hand. The four righteous men walk along the street, paying no mind to a metal horse, breathing in silver rings that return platinum. Each man walks in equal stride, horribly oblivious to the deep blood of the demension they narrowly escape. They don't even look at her as she sews mundane in color, weaving thread to her own and with her own. She covers the terror and the hate with the delighted hum of her machines, making short work of what men that can not be counted on two hands have done in their lives. She spots a jaguar, stalking the rabbit and the unseen collected, when eye catches eye. He extracts fierce swords that glisten in her eyes and he tears the silent weavings, little by little. The Nile flows in his blood as he graces his ancestors with a flame and intesity. The mistress of the weaving fills the basin of her hands with a slaty rain and the dusty apparation fades into the shadows, cursing the love and the birds with the clutch of a bell. The doors reamian open and leaves dance the lights about the walls and the morrired mountains. A flower led the dance, sighing on a bed off young and old, waiting to be grasped by an unhindered hand. The weavings sang in the ears of the mistress as she drew her finger across the flower, petals shining like a smiling moon. A rich flow came forth, the blue and the red danced in her hands and the basin smiled.
Four bees weave a honeycomb for the woman while she sleeps, leaving a subtle gold for her to run her fingers through, for the sun to caress and the wind to waltz with. A bed of flowers rests on her right, each indentical petal opens its mouth in anticipation, avoiding the needless eye and showing the reds and the purples to the gaze of a lover. Three dancing lilies intertwine over her head, sobbing to one another and offering a depressed light with each wave of her unmoving hand. The four righteous men walk along the street, paying no mind to a metal horse, breathing in silver rings that return platinum. Each man walks in equal stride, horribly oblivious to the deep blood of the demension they narrowly escape. They don't even look at her as she sews mundane in color, weaving thread to her own and with her own. She covers the terror and the hate with the delighted hum of her machines, making short work of what men that can not be counted on two hands have done in their lives. She spots a jaguar, stalking the rabbit and the unseen collected, when eye catches eye. He extracts fierce swords that glisten in her eyes and he tears the silent weavings, little by little. The Nile flows in his blood as he graces his ancestors with a flame and intesity. The mistress of the weaving fills the basin of her hands with a slaty rain and the dusty apparation fades into the shadows, cursing the love and the birds with the clutch of a bell. The doors reamian open and leaves dance the lights about the walls and the morrired mountains. A flower led the dance, sighing on a bed off young and old, waiting to be grasped by an unhindered hand. The weavings sang in the ears of the mistress as she drew her finger across the flower, petals shining like a smiling moon. A rich flow came forth, the blue and the red danced in her hands and the basin smiled.