26.12.2018| Sagul| 4 Comments

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Matt ullman

By which the hand still seethes To rid the simple stone Belonging to the flesh The waters of its toil There's the sea that fits the sky Whose evasiveness fits heaven Through the heavens much like earth There's a mood to fit each moment Which belongs to one blind hope The dream of silken whispers Which fit the flesh of hand Be it friend or foe of man VI. By which the hand still seethes To rid the simple stone Belonging to the flesh The waters of its toil There's the sea that fits the sky Whose evasiveness fits heaven Through the heavens much like earth There's a mood to fit each moment Which belongs to one blind hope The dream of silken whispers Which fit the flesh of hand Be it friend or foe of man VI. The hand that fits the body Clay belonging to the soul With the cloth it fits the loin Cloth belongs to modesty But for the grace of every thought Which fits our destiny Words will fit the pouring rain From the mouth that always hungers Matt Ullman. There are streets to fit the earth Over which nobody rules The flames that fit the darkness Break the blackness of the soil To which belongs mortality Where the roots that leave the earth Dare not return unchanged Bring the semblance of a fool The vanity of glass To every grain of sand Which belongs to ruined nations Precedes the beat of rain That fits the strength of trees IV. The hand that fits the body Clay belonging to the soul With the cloth it fits the loin Cloth belongs to modesty But for the grace of every thought Which fits our destiny Words will fit the pouring rain From the mouth that always hungers Matt Ullman. There's a hand that moves to feed The people of a city Where lights that fit concrete Bring a pureness to urbanity Pretenders to the sun Bringing fire to their hearts To which belongs each angled passion Fitting limbs of woman and man II. There are streets to fit the earth Over which nobody rules The flames that fit the darkness Break the blackness of the soil To which belongs mortality Where the roots that leave the earth Dare not return unchanged Bring the semblance of a fool The vanity of glass To every grain of sand Which belongs to ruined nations Precedes the beat of rain That fits the strength of trees IV. There's a hand that moves to feed The people of a city Where lights that fit concrete Bring a pureness to urbanity Pretenders to the sun Bringing fire to their hearts To which belongs each angled passion Fitting limbs of woman and man II. Matt ullman

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Matt ullman



Matt ullman



Matt ullman



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4 thoughts on “Matt ullman”

  1. Faerisar says:

    By which the hand still seethes To rid the simple stone Belonging to the flesh The waters of its toil There's the sea that fits the sky Whose evasiveness fits heaven Through the heavens much like earth There's a mood to fit each moment Which belongs to one blind hope The dream of silken whispers Which fit the flesh of hand Be it friend or foe of man VI. The hand that fits the body Clay belonging to the soul With the cloth it fits the loin Cloth belongs to modesty But for the grace of every thought Which fits our destiny Words will fit the pouring rain From the mouth that always hungers Matt Ullman. There's a hand that moves to feed The people of a city Where lights that fit concrete Bring a pureness to urbanity Pretenders to the sun Bringing fire to their hearts To which belongs each angled passion Fitting limbs of woman and man II.

  2. Shakasida says:

    By which the hand still seethes To rid the simple stone Belonging to the flesh The waters of its toil There's the sea that fits the sky Whose evasiveness fits heaven Through the heavens much like earth There's a mood to fit each moment Which belongs to one blind hope The dream of silken whispers Which fit the flesh of hand Be it friend or foe of man VI. There's a hand that moves to feed The people of a city Where lights that fit concrete Bring a pureness to urbanity Pretenders to the sun Bringing fire to their hearts To which belongs each angled passion Fitting limbs of woman and man II. The hand that fits the body Clay belonging to the soul With the cloth it fits the loin Cloth belongs to modesty But for the grace of every thought Which fits our destiny Words will fit the pouring rain From the mouth that always hungers Matt Ullman.

  3. Gakinos says:

    The hand that fits the body Clay belonging to the soul With the cloth it fits the loin Cloth belongs to modesty But for the grace of every thought Which fits our destiny Words will fit the pouring rain From the mouth that always hungers Matt Ullman. There's a hand that moves to feed The people of a city Where lights that fit concrete Bring a pureness to urbanity Pretenders to the sun Bringing fire to their hearts To which belongs each angled passion Fitting limbs of woman and man II.

  4. Grozshura says:

    There are streets to fit the earth Over which nobody rules The flames that fit the darkness Break the blackness of the soil To which belongs mortality Where the roots that leave the earth Dare not return unchanged Bring the semblance of a fool The vanity of glass To every grain of sand Which belongs to ruined nations Precedes the beat of rain That fits the strength of trees IV.

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