Dreams are infinitesimal in piecing together, at context of my conclusion, to if I am, by an introduce in returning, to start, the recount won’t be a winner to regress. You are the rounding impression, to my awoken hour, the dissolving to at expenditure. Salient the end has not cause to wake, prophetic can work in connotation, pitting out the reward, to a realm of thought. Those to make balance by wealth, conclude with injustice, to remain at miscarriage, of protected-waters and abiding to nature’s free welcome of Mother Earth. You are of dreams, the posting to injustice, spoken of, the resist to climb, at one’s relief of incarnation and balances, to revoke my withdrawn insight, a seeing to believe, for the winning of free-will, is reset to many infinitesimal a balance.

2020 Adam Blewett ©