Imminent patterns which drawn into the mind as they would remain. It was from the dreams that brought upon the person as myself who would follow into sleep. It would become from them which would create a cycle of the testimony. That it would be within the testimony of words which create in a cycle of them that are written before them. Of the places which expire, and everything around them dies it would be in the cycle of the dream that brings about the pages before them. Beneath the varied mind of stages become from the echo of memory, echo of dreams as they would stand inside. Where it is in God's eyes that drawn from the patterns which become the dream before the sleep of man. That it would become the darkness which I pen here, the telling of which becomes the testimony of sorts, or a parable that was there from the nightmares of what remained. Of the places that are no longer there or the ones who are no longer alive, become the ones who appear in the dreams as described which resembles a netherworld. Dreams which become the echo of the imminent thing become the thing that draws from the pages of them as they are written here before the eyes of the writer. As which it lays within a shadow of whispers telling of when it remained in a sleep that appeared as clear as what would be among the pages as they were; which tell of them become the echo of memory. Telling of what would become the echo of pages in time, where prayers become the echo of years which become deceased. From echoes of imminent patterns telling which remains as the pages become the nightmares before them, as to the details are numb to the touch. Where it would become of the places between the sleep and death; that it would be in the echo of heaven and hell --- as the accurate description of what is Purgatory. The range of the dream would take me from beyond any depths that my illness had brought me, into the places that once brought me of my faith and creeds, that become a shadow of what was the creed that was spoken of the Pentecostal church. From the scratching of the ones who are among the screaming, weeping and the gnashing of teeth, that from the salvation they were offered but denied. Drawn further into a descending, becoming from when they were there in places which have the smell of a burning sulfur to them. Where it would be from the times within the sanitarium becoming from there as this shall begin, that the dream was four years in their details. Of the when it draws in places that return to the tundra-like setting which was the dream that was haunting in the details as one saw the Titanic sink into the western sands. That it would become from them in the times when it was there before my eyes as they were taking place, of the sounds would create the ghostly landscape. Of the pages which draw from the cycles of fright that become of them that I pen of here, from the varied nights --- the echo of them become the beginning of the dream as it was there within the sleep as it would be seen. Told of the dreams that echo the times of long past, where the distant memory becomes the setting of which I pen. The nightmare which lives within the nightmares, pages as they would be written before them in the point of view of the writer himself. Where it would be the description that will lay off the rails, and derail themselves from the places in sanity which had been buried long ago. From them which become of places in the faint memory that was once the faith in God. That being in the pages which are the nightmares become the place which is one last step. Forlorn. It would be from the eyes of the sleeping body would tell of them which become the echo of the vast landscape. The dream which brings into the echo of depths which cannot be defined by the single words that a writer would begin to write, though it was from depths that draw from an eternal fire. Of the places in madness which fall from the places around them, where they don't even appear to be familiar to ones eyes. Drawn from an echo of depths of a place which had no tomorrows waiting and telling of the time when mortality echoed the life of the ill around them. From the thoughts strung into the sentences, becoming from the time of them; knowing it would be the unearthly meanings becoming from them. That the dreams which were dubbed among the unforgiven. Of the places that draw from the death in sins telling of the memories that remain of them, from years that drawn from revivals which become the memories of the Ichabod. Beneath the pages as the dream become the etchings of the untold parable. Drawn beneath the dreams as revelation becomes the pages told before the eyes of the writer who sleeps, and the dream is what echoes the memory of the haunted. In the depths of the nightmares which are there which become the places when they are weeping, screaming, and gnashing their teeth. Which it drawn from the places in the mind where one cannot tell which tenses are told of them in the dreams as they stir from the varied places ---- from the multiple places which drawn from the stairs that are always changing in their directions. Of the places to where they were coming from, unearthed, even when it becomes among the dream of the forlorn. Nor it is within the places that become the echo of the dream, but it would be in the words which are written before them. Which this lays upon the question; which is the one that lays within madness and the faith in a God that cannot be seen? Of the hours when they bring the time of the forgotten years, which it would be in the words I describe how I would see one person looking at myself and that person who was looking was also me. From the places which dwell in the darkness becoming from origins, which I call the requiem; to where I describe of this which I cannot tell of if I was awake nor dreaming but yet my body was numb to the waking world. Beneath all that becomes --- the gathering darkness grown from places that one would never begin to comprehend, let alone fathom the thoughts that are there before them as death becomes the imminent thing. Among the thoughts which stir within the dream as the pages are written before them. Of these places that are told among the mind as when they grow, depths of ashes that become when the darkness when one screams if they were able to scream. Of the places which lay among the ashes which the moth and rust began to destroy. From the death of meaning as it would remain, the sleep which brings about the hours that fade into another place in time. Taken into places from the unnamed details that draw further from the dream-infested sleep which becomes of an unspeakable nature to put into words as they remain. The telling of them would be the haunting sense of words becoming from the places which rest within a mental condition. Telling of the mind which haunts the memory, that the dream as they would see pending in a shadowed being. As from a perspective which is there from a mind that sleeps among the patterns of the body around it would see, that from where I put to the words into narrative. From them which become, the understanding of horror which lays within the cycle. Drawn from sleep bring about the places of denial, as when one sees the place of eternal darkness. Not even places where I have the will to descend to that I wrote of these things, the hellish description where I heard them ---- screaming, crying and gnashing their teeth. Of the years seen from the dreams that one had to put these things into a written page, or an entry as this journal staring back at them. From blank pages staring back at me like they had eyes of their own. Where they fall into the places which become----as to the descriptive of what becomes within a place that is the death in sins. That would come to the future of time, that in the dreams after death that when the body returns to clay. From a reality that was realized, beneath the cycle as written from the pages --- the dream which becomes the echo fading from a nightmare within the nightmares. In places that are whispered within prayers that are heard among the death type silence; that it would appear as one sees the color of the sky as it would be black as the seasons below. I write this from a weary mind----drawn from ashes that were the memory of time. Which it is written between the lines; which become the echo of my mind as the depths become the darkness within. Of them which become, where the places I put into ink as they are penned before me. In them of the places which describe as the lake of brimstone, as when it comes before them as time waits for the end of living; where it is the dawn of the end. Drawn in the circle of reasons where they are congregated in the ashes and dust, that would be of the eternal darkness waiting for them as they die. It would be from the places that conjoin the dreams with the echo of sleep. Where it would draw from the sleep beneath a concurring theme, which it draws from them in an echo of a faith long thought to be gone. In the cycle of a mental holocaust, which defines the shadow of the memory being which was once a Pentecost---that it would be from there as defines the narration as which follows further into a pattern of sleep. Where I kept hearing the preacher say, "Repent ye wretched sinners, come unto the God of all and become saved from this eternal darkness that you are trapped within." As the words from the sermons are the spoken thing overhearing everything else in the nightmares, that become the echo of the words told describing the eternal darkness. From which it becomes in the darkness of a Pentecost, which they say it would be the thing that would remain 0f the pure and lovely---think on those things, but their definition of the pure and lovely in the eyes of one having the nightmare appear in an echo of fright. Beneath a cycle of one hellish dream into the next, one cannot begin to describe where they begin and the next ends. Where it remains as from the times before as the woman stood before them as a pillar of salt, from the places which bring the mirror of a revelation ---- horrors as they were written in a page of a testament, that it would be gathering yet so far to what becomes of them. From the echo of the wounds which become clean, but the perversions become the narrated details of the nightmares told from the echo in time. Unknowing; from where it is yet of the penned thoughts stand of the unwritten. Of the gathered mind and the unforgiven nightmares telling within the mind of which stands within the watched thoughts, for they are never my own.
Standing outside the box, looking in ... or, perhaps looking out ... I'd prefer Hell on my own terms and not some lunatic's delusional hatred towards the world.
Thanks for stopping by again. And an update, I'm on elfwood now :o)~
After Satan negotiates a pact with God and unleashes his army of demons, a secret sect battles a diabolical prophecy that threatens humanity.
Release Date: November 21, 2018
Pray for the light. Pray that you last that long. The Long Hour Before Light is a classic collection of Horror tales, re-mastered by Champagne Book Group
