Facts don't have feelings they just present themselves
Love has not feelings of restraint; it just lets the grit flow !
When summers are like winter's, it's not love!

When winter is like a fact there is no gropes in day light only ropes of reckless blindfolds

When the grand master of the cacophony at night auctioned the offer, the grenade was not an explosion but an evasion

Sounds don't come from voices in the dark when the voices do come from the sounds in the vocal cords of all and sundry

A summer voice in a winter sound is not a Laurel but a choral blend of harmony and baritone midday
What voice does midday have? What sound does midday make?
If the answer is a puzzle, don't puzzle
Life is already a puzzle to unravel why add the puzzle of sounds and voices midday has left to the mystery not found in winter an summer beds!

"Where are thou"
A caution to the vulnerability in creation not a spotlight in the cracks of the chain hold.

The cheapest crack ever made on Blockchain is not a hack!
Blindness is the reward for wickedness is the antidote to a ripple of vulnerable walls in vaults where self acclaimed experts are reduced to rubbles.

Four summers ago, Blockchain lost it's authenticity, not to hacks but to the host of Donald Trump who had a check on his head and an ottoman as his design.

What pends a nation's bread when wheels run on the reserve of treasures from safe havens and ivory towers

One would think Blockchain is alpha and omega!
How weak is the rectangular bar like chocolate sliding in loading moments of installation servers wrecked from the rear quarters of hobgoblins.

Blindness is the reward of wickedness is the superstructure which leaked out the weak tendon of Blockchain but held it to a military upgrade and weaponized tactical.

Blockchain, not a defence for  vault records in treasure houses of documents with the daguerrotypes of a crime scene

Blockchain, not bad, just no longer inadequate in crimes preserved in documents meant only to be kept in vaults.
👀
Who has an eye and cannot see?
Who has a mouth and cannot speak anymore
If you are not shocked you shoot yourself in the leg.
Experts do make noise, we just understand humility and fear of God.
In one hour "I" can shut down treasure houses within the coordinates of the shoal, the business, the scourge and the parliament!
We don't ****, we zigzag!
Blockchain is about to die without global attention
It just needs rewiring!
"I" was just held back from spilling it out to competing blind entrepreneurs!
👀 What a new day for America's independence!
No guess work, pure expertry
Pure genius born by research
I need my equipment!
Blockchain is inadequate!

Ataxia gallops to a ballast of collisions and policing
Sparks rattle the swags of bards and sting the ******* of clusters and the ripples of oysters
A business is a caboodle of flies; a scourge is a super arrangement of mosquitoes.

Masquerades did not attend G7, but the soul of intelligence is beyond the eyes unplugged from the sockets

The lumber is the tact the rhumba cannot coral into an irrational bombardment of hyped legacies!

When the gam streaks a beam of light trails for the shoal to wonder about, monasteries are in need of monks!

Bearded gloats and bearded stallion dare the olympic killing and the horrific stripping of parliament in variegated sensibility

How impossible is it for brains to criminalise the struts  of white house

It's migration of cash from network infant frontliners to adult toddles of title bearers
When did the epidemic start when Dizzy has not been equipped for the frontline

When did the fall out happen when desperate folks use a business of flies and a scourge f mosquitoes to mount a hive of bees

One sting, forty days and life ends in a cycle where queens feed on pollen soldiers

Fire and water are not elements in the frontline
They are not icons of brains and steps

Fire licks the leak in the vaults where double records still shield the heist of baby experts

Yellow sun is judged by the colour of her skin
The half is perceived as the content of character

But the mind is traumatized to an inglorious war
Where patriarchal foils and feminist foils can't see
Beyond the man in the mirror.

Jackson sings if you want to make a change begin with the Man in the mirror

Whose image is that?
Sand or Strands?

How could it be that the half lamb half tiger did not simmer in the abridged sun?

But locked away in the ambition of a little black son matched with the enemy of Alli decades before the stereotypes of stories flushed out the Blushing of a goddess for an aspirant

It was strands that saw sands
No
It was sands that saw strands

A debate or a frigate?

We laughed and we danced
That was not a history but a secret
Moments after sands found strands
Hue of Curtis mattered most in filial company

Beginnings restarted, as ending rolled back
As soon as white and black split into tempered Classic and power tragics, mastered systems spoke

Only that the company of power and the savages Of classic white looked like a blemish on Imacculate beddings and silver drapes

Monarchy and whitarchy cooperate against Blackarchy in the knuckle and  fundament of four little black girls from King's native after four, two three dotage

Wishes pushed proselytism of the occident and the orient to an exuberant brink only to return spoils instead of black four little sons

We know why the the throbs of Kings posterity still chase the white goddesses of whitarchy, leaving footprint stains on the gonfalon of two Colours and negotiated anthem reawakened

How impossible is it
The wonders of puissance
The countenance of acceptance
The posture of trending
The disposition of what I have become!

Names too lost their native legend to the silver widgets arranged where the sun sets

Sun did not take sides either for black or white, it only switches sides for hue of Curtis.

It has no chromium yet we are on pins and needles scavenging for attention on the cover Pages of scandal sheet

Mirrors do not reflect light in the dark
Eyes too bright to see might be too keen to the blindfold at night
I was black so the beam of mirrors in the dark
Drank the spill of my image
From the face of the mirror to the pose of the obsidian
How can a black oak see itself in the face of a mirror in the dark?
Light is a phenomenal command for the dark but a compass for the mirror
Who holds the power of the light?
When sights pasquenades silver faces of mirrors
Heights of birds in flight gets the pull to the triangle
Water is unstable yet the triangle is perfect when it coordinates its death pull
A blanched eye and an obsidian sight can forge the triangle to hold the intensity of its pull
When infant mammals fly in Juno beach

Dismissed spectacle in suburbs of greed
Vanquished the terrestrial amulets!

Conquest is a plus where victories have no
Pyrrhic courtesies cramped against life and death
Fantastic rivers of hope dismount from spectacular streams if despair

How untrue that Listers were not machines
How impossible that winders were no settlers in Waste lands and summerlands

Phreckles smashed the Beaty of  loamy *******
But found the ******* of depression rocking the blast of calculated beats and coordinated dreams

A hand shake has become a brand race for lights
No one failed in the bits of whole and bits!