A Tale Overtime

Somewhere it’s always going on, a tick of combustion, radiant heat of blood pumped warm. From here the invincible crusade for a taste of mortality, expelled by energies here nor there will matter when they need to. Ain’t it so we ride through crest and trough, cast over form and plane. Magic at the palm of a hand.


Author: mobleysurfer

Change is the only constant.

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