My Pen glide across the empty lines, the heart flows out the feelings of ponderous turning the hope of men in asunder. The magic behind a broken pond with an empty frame is a clueless effort ascending.
My pen is bleeding the anguish of men, the sorrows of the gentle, the cry of the mean, the actions of the victim and the story of the faded attitude calling in the midst of the braves.
Yes it began with a chant of truth, morals and sincerity but time flies when only the good keeps pursuing and the bad keeps reign in a territory of vanquish.
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