The paper, the pen, a man of words, alone with his thoughts and distant from all somehow...
Who's to say one's purpose is not that of prestigious valor?
Each letter, when in sequence, form internal breakthroughs disoriented by expressive compulsion...
Excuse my French for as these newly communicative, written procedures kiss college-ruled templates liberated through wordplay...
Let this hold true, truth withheld is indeed closer than appearance intels...
The usual proximity is presently enclosed by parameters indicative to a fortress...
Against the forces that may be of this land, this weapon shall prosper by way of the One and His Son...
If fate foretells such then so it shall be done...