I am the warrior by word who brings peace to regions of the desolate, barren, and hopeless. Always, living on the doorsteps of death, I managed to survive, even as an infant, premature with all my dogmatic faith, I stood to tell the myth of how I survived.
Based upon the fear of a machismo earth, and to the inhabitants therein, fear kept hope alive in the dungeons of rebirthing a kindred spirit, a tiny mustard seed of faith, and a love for the language of the world, that is heard through tenderness.
Silver love brings to me a new word of praise within the fields of harvesting the depths of a love truest in the essence of each metaphor.
Denied from birth the freedom of speech, the freedom of verb and noun, the freedom of word, freedom.
A regimented life of pain-filled days, and nights from the sweat, blood, and tears of fiery dreams and words that kill, I survived. Oh, the depths of a pain-soaked life, where shall I travel, but the dusty roads of the pains of agony, and the ecstasy of a glory not bequeathed of man.
Vein upon vein, similes from a phantom guide, a teacher and her student, smile upon the same lotus flower that leads to the forest of a nirvana, comparative with an earthly Eden, and the Angel’s fiery sword of truth protects the gate with the Word of truth.
Time heals all wounds they say, liberation comes with each ripening word and verbal ray, as we pass through the evolutionary bridge of spiritual enlightenment in our perpetual state of grace.
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