Day 14: Size

You will never know my woe reach trend, a jew a shuffle, it is just five corridors my bed to lend.

A peer to see, the mission late, a child, hid later, to a saint lifted slate. And pardon gleaned the toe to shame, a shift in energy, to a teacher my claim.

Cement the guide, in a crown so old, in silent missions, in torture, foreword.

And on the teaching black as night, a ring, cemented around a bone that can never sever sight. Blacken the ring to the finger’s keep, and late in life, then – a goldsmith reach sleep.

To sailor wound, a blacksmith woe, or a prying jeweller, with a weighted hope know.

Can you see the woman late? A man, shift comfort, to the corridor blackened night final slate?

my eyes are black, not a pink rose claim, I will never separate from a teacher fame, and late in life, the ring sliced find,

to a jeweller two, and empty words hide.

Can you see the jew, the blessings his worth hide reknew? That passing fantasy Solomon with two, and a child hid corridor, in a room emptied, decades pry, the rings cast outward, to the lesson, all blessings a jeweller a weighted sigh.

Shape the daggers worthy theft, an angel is, no Solomon wept, that fleeting words, to a soul mate clear, what angel a spark, to my soul to fear. And guidance one, what wept is crept, a destroy of one, to the soul mate wept, and tailor woe, upon a ring a show, my eye in forgiveness, yet never old to know, to seal in comfort, in forthcoming lept, what corridor an angel, to a struggle final weeping theft, and drift upon the corridor won, can you see for me, what is done?

Or upon the two, an angel beckoning a child, the destruction of all, the zoo, and a final resting place, an angel with a corridor emptied souls two, and darkened woe, the weeping fame, what birth I will give, two just one corridor, an angel fame, and the destruction of all, to claim a place, is it too late, just a withered memory replace?

Or cry upon the stolen find, I can never find, what memory, a deal could bind? Are angels doctored in withered care, ora final movement in solitude rare, or they keepers of knowings ease, to know what comfort, a shuffle, in death would please?

Is trust so easy placed in loft? A child with one, an angel all too soft? Or is motion tears, upon the floor, a raining comfort, to all weathered poor?

I cannot see a loft hid blame, God, my reckoning yet breached, a skull grounded a chair fame. That find a teacher rid with park, can you find the horns moon park? That on the corridor reached two fame, a child a bounty, with God, horns a claim.

And upon the ram, is it a sham? Or is God all seeing, in displaced humour chucked clam?

I can never see a child with ease, with company teasing an angel breach knees, and stolen company what loft to claim, the moon, a tilted left chair to fame, and withered motion a book so young, to rewind all corridors, and spin outwards none?

Or see a vision, with creeping loft, the moon is hid, to a corridor trigger guidance soft?

I have many triggers on which to fly, to anchor paradise, on the cry. Yet tears in loft, a public place sigh, the withered hand, the grim reaper, I shall tie. And upon the oars, the bounty claimed, the tilted head, withered, yet motion sane. And on the side, what screaming chores, crying hands, and flaming arms tores?

Can you see the bounty young? Your side now, a screaming lightning begun, or are you too weak, to see with eyes, a corridor God, his flesh resize, and shapened motion the oars the cane, the tilt, the hold, to a back worth fame, and footing solid, a sandle crept, the war I will shape, to just one step lept.

If God, is found with a lantern might, then the oar, what movement to move a crop lent, and the point is one, the staff sprung young, I will cement my passage, to a child hidden and eyes crop tear, to seal a step, in no soul gift reach, or nothing but isolation, and wonder why teach?

If no miracle turns or talent grows near, what eyes, a parcel, in the eyes I shall fear, and if God stepped on the world in vein, what two points, shared, a caring companion step lame? Or shelter ears and eyes too shy, a step forward, a word, and a ponder, a sentence my cry?

If God had ears, not eyes worthy find, then two look downwards, to shoulders pry sight. And on the footing two eyes tilted shows, and two corridors a tree, to withered crop grows? Yet tilted right, is it left, to theft, or eyes uphill, to a womb lept net?

Around the neck, I see a grid, can you see, the tree, a pyramid hid? And with the company tailor wise, an eye hid wisdom, can you see knowledge ties?