She’d Never Seen The Trees So Still.

“Without motions of sound, the reasons of life had become unbound. I had decided with interests forsaken into the mind, reared in its transverse stature, the match for the wind to become like a barracuda of dissuasive interests onto the wooden trees that surrounded me in all directions. I wanted to re-educate the opposing answer with an interested vision of contractions and insufferable contracts made whole in the name of the Lord—for whom ever comes in the name of the Lord, is blessed. The mattered cells battered about the wooden trees, hallow inside, and filled with wooden demise; continual compromise existence made truth the simple venue of our treasured account.

Hatred – such a decisive word, isn’t it—became a fantastical version of nature, and the wind did suffice to whistle inwards, as if I were contained within the center of a hurricane, which the whistle of steam-trains coordinate from the sides, and com pulse in directives unknown to our division. Determination stood on me like chance, dust and love confessed onto life. I understood the main reason behind our written texts, and became allowed to remove oneself from the mind, but for a moment.

I lifted oneself from the dirtied floor, switched towards the upper thrones of the forwarding winded trees, and I saddled there in the darkness, shallow in the pits of this determined forest.

The woods around me, and around the woman beside me, all the wooden trees and the branches thereof, contained inwards the darkened shift of our corrosive inheritance. The fortress of the woods determined our convulsions, our minds, and the heart beats that stamped outwards our direction.

For the wind made us believe we were cornered, lost, and unavailable to the nearest town, or roads that lead to said towns. I became nihilistic, worthless onto the toppled version of the hatred becoming predominate within the interior of the human soul, and I had become opportune to the signal of outwards formations of the current winds.

As I watched the forests communicate with the winds, the storm burst forwards into directions unknown, for fear made statues in the foundations of the mind. The abhorrent love I had contained, became severe trauma of terror, shifted into desperation, I settled downwards back onto the tree laid into the earth, a faction of relevant secure induction persuaded me to inflict the more dangerous hints of deliberate actions.

I communicated well in love for the branches, the storm, and the God that defines the storm with his hands clapping together in harmonious intentional concordance of the nation he has predestined before Himself; the destruction of the world would devise an end, and still, I wonder: “When will the tree’s burn in nature, when child molesters are defeated, and the Son can return, and resolve this situation handled in our hearts?” I sensed the treasured hearts of fallen, and light-heated creatures sneaking peaks at me from the roots of the trees, within the trunks, and the branches of movable madness.

“The Cherubim are here...now?” I admitted I did not create the ideals alone. “Here? Underneath the sycamore trees bounded into the flesh of the soil, conjured upwards from eons in the histories known to the memories of Nature?” and I motioned a listen to the wind, the sound of waves stringing against the leafs and branches with mild interests divided, and conducted into love for the sound. “This land,” I said, “Is the desolation and I enter onto the earth, forevermore concerned about the wind, and it’s chance of channeled air.” A sudden hint of curious venture entered onto me, like a moth to a flame, and I said, “I must leave this location—should I want to escape from this world, and take coordinate with the written works The written Guild of writers shall not prosper in this generation, unless their works are divine like the beliefs of the ancients!”

The world became a storm-hole in the drenched sunlight, which now lowered beneath the world, entering into eh abyss located in the horizon, somewhere alongside the oceans foundational creation. Such ancient waters, so bold, and old are these waters, for these waters do not replenish, or become fresh, indeed, the waters are still in the annals of mankind's described intentions. What bones lie underneath, and what monsters do breathe within the heated singing vision noticed onto heated matters?”The tall trees, the surmounted bushes, and the laid out wastes of the woods became surmounted in direct strength, and bent in narrow fashioned influx. The wind shifted—one breeze inserted form the opposite attraction, onto the other side, and birthed a storm onto the woodwork of the land.

“Whose aim indeed belongs to me?” I asked the woodmen, but those were tricks of the mind, for there were but me, and the woman I admired, loved, and confine into trust, here onto this land of absolute constructive nature. I fear the night that is advancing upon our leverage, forevermore settled in peace that is found in God!”

While the wind blew across the trees above us, the channels of sounds disturbed me, darkened as the sunshine lasted another few four minutes, downwards into despair I convoluted into natural ability to confine the darkness, and, with love, instead, commanded the light to shine furthermore into me—such a man can do with God, the impossible becomes the available! I settled above the floor, onto the surface of the roots of a tree, and I did notice several breathing procedures from my own nose, and the mouth infiltrated as well, to believe in the compassion of normal thoughts did invite a return of leafs, in similar sins to divide the national thought of procrastination.

“These woods eat me alive! What am I to do?”

Onto the question I had asked before, the wind had become ea ceased introspective venue of fabled chance, and I divided removal and stance in the current location we were determined to set-out on. Onto a branched tree, half of the tree starched upwards, awhile the other half disgusted in different courses, I stood onto a branch, leveled the wood, and laid beside the tree. Both of our precious backsides remained stumped against our clothed flesh. We received the back laid chance of a flat board inflicted into the main trunk of the tree, which we did not take for granted, but resided towards gratitude. I shall remain true, but our hearts became cold, swinging pains swelled, and I asked God, as I held her close to me, her head embraced onto my chest: “God, whom serves the living and breathing, shall I obtain great chance in life and will I receive them onto gratitude? I shall remain true, but my heart becomes cold, what reason God is forgiveness available to me like a parched flame drinking the oil flamed? I obtain the warmth of Christ’s clod, in the name of Jesus Christ, I am clotted with it as if I had too much linear lined out taking of meat for grease throughout years added onto a time. What reason to obtain some wearisome soul of thoughtless intentions?”

As I am onto the understanding of life, I complain in discreet hatred for oneself. I return to the realities set before me, and noticed the Darling little one beside me, her head ladled in between her knees, her legs staunched towards her small little head. “Daddy?” said the quivering little vice of her cold throat, braced with intentions of fear laid out before her. “Are we going somewhere? I want to get out of the cold!” she repeated onto these ears of mine, which offered me courage to settle outwards. She added, “I want to see Mama?”

“Be not worried, dearest little one,” I answered her. Trisha had been the woman whom was dedicated to me as a wife, but she at the moment predestined her inside the corner of my imagination—she was the picture, the image of Trisha from the likens of her childhood! “Dearest, understand that God anchors love onto us, and that we live dangerously into the love of God, fore more visiting his Climate love.”

“I don’t want to die,” she cried.

“No one wants to die,” I answered. “Even Jesus Christ didn’t want to have to die,” and she answered onto me with perception, “What if God doesn’t want us to die. What if you are only thinking that’s what He wants? Please, Daddy! I don’t want to die out here.”

“What am I to command oneself to cover the shield over the film of my eyes?”

“I love you, father!” she said, and onto utmost inheritance of slumber, she stumbled her head into thee arms, and slumbered well within the final word of “Goodnight!” she announced, and her eyes fell into persuasion for sleep, and righteous justice became quite apparent to me. The silent tree’s motioned again, and countered with a gentle tunnel of invisible force.

“Goodnight, dearest little one.” I touched the side of her small face, her cheeks wide in measure, but available to beautiful attraction for her divisive love.

Tisha's small eyes opened for a moment, and she ‘d never seen the tress so still.
---

“What words pronounce themselves behind the cage of the walls? That’s the noise of mother dearest!” Muffled sounds of tone, accent, and shout does invade the noose. But, I shall not condemn the woman, instead, I shall fire the wound, and lick salt onto the flesh within!”

I advice human kind to return to the Lord our God, before evil becomes apart and connected to the simple measures of daily living—as stones upturn, as does the insects underneath, made visible onto the human vision, on-wards, and on-wards their creeping death does subject ate a stance of stared hesitance.

“Come, child. I believe these creatures will know the meaning of eating, and leave our dead, but the bones will remain consonant onto the earth, ancient and echoed onto deserted hills with mists developed for kind withdrawn motioned incense.”