Verse, we are here to define our high mind,
Hence, might the words would not comfort ye,
But let our voice, like Speech Of Freedom,
And like the likes of verses in the holy books,
But we do not mean such Perfect Words.
Voices may not be heard, but it surrounds the dome where it scrabbles and finds its ear to hear its true voice. It leads to words to travel amongst the world. Hence, it becomes a verse we shall remember.
Voices may not be heard, but it surrounds the dome where it scrabbles,
A verse we shall remember
But still, we do not mean such Perfect Words.
The Mind rhythmically finds flow in the melody,
The melody itself flows around repeatedly.
While repeated, the Verse becomes a taste,
A taste forever memorable that forms to a paste.
Scrumptious, crumbly, smooth, whatever ye desire.
Such Perfect Words belongs to our Holy Creator
Such is perfect that Him who made us
And everything else made by Him alone
But the Verse shall we allow to verse
All there is, even from heart, soul, and all within
© Ismael Mansoor & Llewellyn McDonald
Ismael: blue / unbold
Llewellyn: green / bold