Can something be independently owned, but universally shared?
Can a destruction become a birth, if the latter, untempered?
Would a proof be a fact, if presented with a lie, a tale that everyone believed?
Would man be remembered for evil or for good?
Man of woman of man of god?
If a line is drawn with the intention to be unmeeting and straight but the axle upon which the line exists is turned in a timely fashion 360-degrees, would anyone believe it were a line and not a circle?
When before, Man was made in the image of God, yet He now made of a man made cast, do we not expel more from a lie, than we would, of the truth of a past? That Man has wrecked each time he has created, that this misery was birthed, and to a false hope its worth and victory and loss, Stated. Still, of sullen praise, and of Golden return, does the face of a world have such vacant appeal, so too must the gluttons be consumed, as well as their meal. A devastation not only of form, but of content in the commitment of a script, diluted with inefficient Moons and Suns, till a barren authority becomes a benevolent whip. The vessel to guide Man from this storm, is compassed not tord South, West, North, nor tords East, but through unrighteous garments and pitch black infernos, past brothers mistaken as beasts, and passed the dead, who no longer rest, but detest the sight, of this vanity, for contemptuous relentless peace.
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