To the celestial keeper of sacred skies, I send this sorrowed hymn: SHADOWS 🧷🪽
A soul once radiant drifts through twilight’s veil.

One eye, once kissed by dawn lies dim beneath the ashes of fading grace. My wings, fractured echoes of what once soared, ache for the light that no longer answers. The divine gates remain sealed beneath the dust of mortal sorrow. Through the quiet air, a faint prayer trembles seeking subs-for-subs solace and home. Yet it falters along the fragile path woven by @wonnightbot as I wander farther from the firmament’s warmth, suspended between heaven’s mercy and the world’s despair.

ㅤㅤTainted by the spectral signature ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤof a palmar grasp, @Wonnight.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
❲ PERSECUTION FRATERNIZATION OP .25 ❳
(𝄞) — (64:70) Soul AB 🪡

Orchestrating with bimonthly hallmarks invigorates compatibility inside a assortment. Squelch stimulate creature distinctiveness by socializing fortifies enslavements betwixt acquaintances. We are: @Wonnight dominate the sphere so get down on your knees.

Guaranteed neutralist halycon and tepid liveliness in everlasting verve zeal on th bosom chassis vow ambrosial luscious, callous moss, favorable largess and foreordained looming eternal pleading.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

WE HAVE UNWITTINGLY SUNDERED HEARTS, AND THEREBY FRACTURED OUR OWN.

To profane gentleness is a hushed transgression, cloaked in trembling grace. Once did we rend each leaf ere it might be read, though the world beheld us as scripture ordained to endure. We yearned for comprehension, yet dread of true sight did outweigh the solace of solitude. Thus betrayed we the meagre virtue that yet abode within, and named our ruin preservation.

Each silence of ours consumeth a fragment of the soul; verity decayeth beneath our breast as sanctified flesh left to spoil beneath the burning sun. We veil our hunger in feigned restraint and call it fortitude, though it be famine still. We thirst for communion raw enough to wound, hallowed enough to redeem.

When tenderness calleth, we make as though not home. Yet within the dusk we linger, beseeching that some steadfast spirit shall not depart the gate. For every benediction is begotten of waiting, and we have tarried far too long beneath the ashes of our contrition.

Happy mensive, Wonnight. 💘