and pages are lost in the height of embellishments
When definition becomes the only worth you know
When all steam is frozen with a picture someone forgot to take
When moving walls and runaway frames are the only things separating love from destiny
Is it possible to return to the garden?
When freedom sight is the light that shines inspite and horse thunder calls out to your pain. Is it too late to return your shame. Forfeit your game and enter the plain that once knew your name?
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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