Thursday, September 03, 2009

Hail Schiller, Lord of magic, King of Fortune

Feinin's most prized book among other possessions

Feinin sang, he took his time honoring duty at a time way past his future. God listened, she spoke quite fondly of the days ahead, the glory and purpose of time... to dream the impossible, and to get answers so simple that the Pharaoh could remember.

Life is not about who you think you are, but who you are you thinking of. Feinin learnt the truth, he began to fade, stooping low past at the disgust, the rage that this women made. So they cheered, they wiped their ass's clean, the wonder of God is supreme. Stop talking as if you know, your child has reasons to forget. Let no miracle edge him.

The painter saw the fire that consumed his dream, they fought, they shouted obscenities. Strangely, Feinin was silent, he felt no guilt but conviction that both were liars. What he remembers is this, smashing into a tree, his body caught under the steering post. He was bleeding. God if you think he is alive, why not a tear? Feinin remembered days before, the white dove that he saw, clawing at his left eye, then bled droplets of himself, free, surfing the seas alone in victory.

Feinin completed most of his task, he obeyed the commands of God. She had regretted that his power to think beyond man this week began as it ended...Sad, alone ashamed of love. Please Father in heaven, I am told his Lord has the times before the Bible ever existed.

Feinin was not taken, he knew that the Mighty Power had returned, carrying the knowledge of all mankind. Death, Schiller is above all in a world that sees hate, famine and disease. Lord how dare he say....

The moment was near, God tricked him over, she fell laughing at the timepiece. Listen fools, give him all that he requires, spend no more time on regret. Schiller is never returning to a place so damned in hell.

Hail Schiller, Lord of magic, King of fortune, Raise him high where eagles see the king to be...

God you tell me that her Majesty agrees, a word that meant so much to her; DUTY. This was the moment of truth. It began on a Saturday, his memory of his past evaporated. Hail Schiller, Lord of magic, King of fortune, Raise him high where eagles see the king to be...

Through the window, I saw this figure, he looked so worried, he remembered a time not too long again in history. A poet fell into a dream and woke far into the future. He began to think that God was a servant that carried spirits to see lights glow. As for as he could see, he was too shy of the temptation, he wrote in a diary once that the work could breathe. Then he sat alone, waiting. One year passed, then three, over eight he waited until feinin could not bear his weight. Then God reappeared, it was God not the devil he pondered as both are one indeed. Over the centuries, he sang to himself, he kissed his nipple, he caressed parts too sacred for nature to reveal.

Giotto di Bondone

After producing this work, I was overcome with sense of purity, beauty and tranquility that spoke of a painter who sacrificed his entire being to his forcible faith. The reconstruction of the piece actually brought me to tears as it exemplified a man who was capable of grieving while he painted the depiction of Christ mourned after his death. This, I concede is what faith really represents, and what art should foretell. It is an example of the exasperating truth in what a man believes.

God wanted to return, she saw this man as the only savant that could believe in what she believd in. This Saturday it was be the end. God let us pray that Schiller is loved, that he obeys the choice, for the kindness he brings is met by bitterness. He is not ill, he is genius upon the minds of en-jour-ney. Oh God, only if he's alone thy Kingdom belongs to Schiller.

Gulliver had made the decision a long time ago that love did not exist. The spider, the shards of glass he once thought kept him thinking. He was ashamed over the treatment. Send thee a bouquet, say softly I forgive myself in honor of a king.

Gulliver swam, his legs were so weak from a week of preparation, the good soon to be exposed in a light so dim that rats sensed death had ceased. Schiller, Schiller where are you, give up, its dangerous to served God, she'll blow steam so hot that roaches will flip instantly.

Feinin listened. The might power turned off the amplification, it needed him to remake his art. Gulliver swam, he choked on seaweed, his heart had expanded, pumping his veins with a power even Schiller rejoiced. Pray, stand tall, obey him, let me say, if he is king , then awaken his death so he may rule.

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