Defining Hope

Singing in the rain is not a season for me. I do what I can do, and release when necessary. The tension in the line is like a violin. Being a circular artistry in front of me at the library, these stringed instruments are always eclipsing the deeper viola. It is clear that it is more difficult for me to write here. My connection to others is less active and exact. I push away the war around me and through me and define the lines that others cannot and refuse to see. I would love to explain my adagio, but he would go a little bit rabbit, and I need him here, at least in spirit. My tongue is dry and my feet beat on the street in a simple rhyme. Hopefully, something beautiful will come of it. Aggression is in my perview. Little missy, you are tramping on the wrong entity. I very much see and feel your demonic acts and proclivities. Stop goes the cloud, and gratitude to me is the reality of vicinity. Other being, chose a tree and make something real and unique for you and only you.