The world according to the hill.

Everything on the narratives table is marked in red

As is in blood🩸making the day from table to social etiquette 

The rain a band aid and the sun in same a pretense for the moment

A social etiquette that sees the role of the magic marker genius 

To change the role and away plans the speakeasy door has given

The niche behind lie a weight fingers clawing in sight to lights touch

The appearance in the mornings spirit was reaching the hands in prayer

So was I in Gods hand a dear roll of call the angels ware spelling I recall

In that my first prayer the erected stones on silver tracks never be repeated

Lead from the fallen stones or deaf ears beneath which lie the dead rather

Peace may in some way enter and endure but to name a word as our peace ☮️ 

In some way may become and endure borrows my thinking and hand to enter

But my name is not without mention and defender the cost of life ends unrecoverable 

It began and continues to noting the run of good and bad luck it has spread the 🌎 

Both of which exist in the same unblemished narrative if the love ❤️ of God as was

We note in a prayer has become indifferent by wars sect the change in our earthly peace

Gods veil the love God is shadowing love of one to another but of one thing now clear

The everlasting silence of those now ruins.