01-07-2021, 10:00 PM
[div style="margin: auto; max-width: 475px; padding: 5%; min-height: 20px; font-family: verdana; font-size: 9pt; text-align: justify; line-height: 17px;"]Ever persistent the perplexion and anguish, misunderstood the unknown, poor the definition of that harboured in breast. Reality seeped in the corporeal, known how chambers are linked and spread, branching those delicate veins, life bestow with thrumming beat. The supposed presence within — essence some called it others partial to soul — disputable for how may one touch, and thus understand, the incorporeal. Fickle it, as the mind housed in thick bone, combination incapable of offering explanation.
Misguided the unaided speculation he may conduct where concerned the plight that necessitated such withdraw, part of him understood, however, he simply lacked the words to express such. Clumsy the tongue that harbours incorrect sentiments, false comfort ringing with hope soothed an ache that may be stemmed with just flowery poetry, a child of war is not built for such things. Different they, about brow carried the crown of the one she was named for, soul ignited with his rage and prowess, made a warrior before her time. And he was but a fool who wore silver thorns, felt the brush of the angelic that hunted him as though he a mangy mutt without purpose, crying as his own blood dripped down his brow.
They were both children shaped and broken by conflict, sought a way to strengthen a heart so fragile in such a tiny breast that wanted only what a child should have, but he was better off and thus could not understand in full.
Never before had he tread upon the land ringing raging seas, rage incarnate always those high peaks that crashed into ceaseless whirlpool hidden beneath the surface, a cacophony that drove him back as his cranium rung with too much sound. Yet he needed it that day, shallow and strained each breath, dulled the buzz of his thoughts as it overwhelmed. Attention caught, thoughts of retreat arising, words snatched and that allowed warped beyond recognition. Something kept Salvia rooted in place, among the grains toes curling, claws grinding, hidden stone scraped against as he pondered the assistance he may give. Finally closer did he step, though tight lipped as he, thin the line mouth pressed into. No words may bypass, empty each would be, momentum halting next to the other child.
Chin dipping, about tufted tip curling, a gentle brush to side. All he may offer, support silent as he kept his vision lowered but averted, to make spectacle her tears wrong. Correct that spoken by father, much she had experienced in a time all too short, taken the innocence of her youth, and vein his hope she knew he felt partially the same.
Misguided the unaided speculation he may conduct where concerned the plight that necessitated such withdraw, part of him understood, however, he simply lacked the words to express such. Clumsy the tongue that harbours incorrect sentiments, false comfort ringing with hope soothed an ache that may be stemmed with just flowery poetry, a child of war is not built for such things. Different they, about brow carried the crown of the one she was named for, soul ignited with his rage and prowess, made a warrior before her time. And he was but a fool who wore silver thorns, felt the brush of the angelic that hunted him as though he a mangy mutt without purpose, crying as his own blood dripped down his brow.
They were both children shaped and broken by conflict, sought a way to strengthen a heart so fragile in such a tiny breast that wanted only what a child should have, but he was better off and thus could not understand in full.
Never before had he tread upon the land ringing raging seas, rage incarnate always those high peaks that crashed into ceaseless whirlpool hidden beneath the surface, a cacophony that drove him back as his cranium rung with too much sound. Yet he needed it that day, shallow and strained each breath, dulled the buzz of his thoughts as it overwhelmed. Attention caught, thoughts of retreat arising, words snatched and that allowed warped beyond recognition. Something kept Salvia rooted in place, among the grains toes curling, claws grinding, hidden stone scraped against as he pondered the assistance he may give. Finally closer did he step, though tight lipped as he, thin the line mouth pressed into. No words may bypass, empty each would be, momentum halting next to the other child.
Chin dipping, about tufted tip curling, a gentle brush to side. All he may offer, support silent as he kept his vision lowered but averted, to make spectacle her tears wrong. Correct that spoken by father, much she had experienced in a time all too short, taken the innocence of her youth, and vein his hope she knew he felt partially the same.