Spirit cannot be killed, that's what the harbingers say.Only filled or spilled, and that alone on your appointed day. 'Tis an harrowing hour, when naked souls stand in blazed or putrid breeze,to gain the prize immortal or to the gates of hell must flee.To till or to mill, that is the key.Choose the path of the way to be. Dark Sword Midnight Novel/Poem
-Douglas Laurent
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