A morning is like a golden light ray ,shining our darkness , a pathfinder of glorious destiny
Hell In The Morning Is A Brother Of Planlessness,of The Protrusive Morning And All Men Are The Architects Of Their Destiny Wherein They Bargain What The Future Holds.That Coat Of Frail Deeds That Ends A Ghasly Lurk Of Nebulous night,cannot Guarrantee Nor SalvageThe Docking Of An Unfolding Morning.When Blind Eyes Flashes Forth Like A Meteor,Glorious Night And Glorious Morn Vamoose With Its Goodier Art And We Cannot Praise A Golden Morn To Leaden The Craft Of Yonder Nights,that Grief For Ages Cannot Seek.Yet,OneSoft Morning Glow,banishesInto Eternity,its Virago Of Relentless Storms.On A Bare Platform,we Wail For The Nirvana,knoweth Not Where The Gauntlet IsFallen,and InAmple Rotund,We Alarm In The Midst Of Wallows,biles And Billows Of Dreamland,left As Indellible Footpr ontInThe Forgotten Sands Of Time.Morning AsThe Oracle Of Time,OnItsTrojan Horse,slips Away Morning Hell As Sweet And Sad Tales OfThe Morning Of NoReturn.That Morningthat Slips Not By Like A Sloth Seems Justified,I Am The Bliss Before My Time ..
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