In all things there are manifests. To manifest or predict. If, by understanding of technology manipulations offer genius ability to assume their rightful throne. Than, there is chance the example has confound awareness raised in it's completion. Whereby, there is a choice that's provides manifest with opportunity to avert prophetic oracle. What science fiction would be complete without the mythology of an oracle to deliver proof of a higher power. Suspect that the truth sustains a character so innately fierce that none can forsake the King. Upon understanding the individual King, and reason which drew forth unprecedented masses in his favor, forsaking him isn't conceptually present. The mastery of minds, and generations of securitization, handed to one with a handle on the world. For the understanding of the King is a diplomatic marriage which binds us all in some way or another. Where favor and diplomacy later seek refuge from knowingly toxifying our earth. It is the mission of the people whom understand imprints best to restore that which has been tredded upon. The timestamps holding a prophecy in science fiction that may be a conspiracy debated for the rest of human kinds existence are far fetched. Should there be prophetic jewels in the hands of a worldly King, and that King be the author, this script is written with passion to eternally unfold.
Prophecy or Prophets Witness
Have I witnessed prophecy?
To read the script which forecasts a future bombardment is intense.
Have I read authorship based upon truth or fiction?
Has the world responded or was it telling to find forecasts.
Would a prophet be scorned for all that witness their truth?
Perhaps, asked which coin to fire up upon the purchase availability in market.
Would a prophet know better than to continue forecasting?
All the questions where witness may rage without understanding.
Have I come to you with sons of King's visualizing armageddon?
May we pray the King's script is enough.
Is it possible to achieve our golden age of peace?
By what influence has the feather found nest awaiting history?
Our own world is manifest.
It is my love that's here to find me at last.
The Bastrastanovian suspect of protocol is publicly disavowed.
It would be heresy to think a penniless Napoleon might restore his Holy Roman Empire's crown.
What land is that which lay over the sea?
Beyond the ocean awaiting the arrival of the King's royal jewels a vice.
With what value is it to us all to wither the flower which won us a greatness in treasure?
Still, we are still.
And, we are yet to see our treasure without humorous eyes to endure.
This prophecy string of beads holds beds of sweet dreams.
This war can be ended with nobility awarding rehabilitations in under a score.
As it is found, we bring our alliances together, and all are more secure.
As it is found, we bring our boarders together, and all are more secure.
As it is found, we bring our King their treasures, and all is restored.
As it is found, we bring our peace with justice, and all balance restoration.
With all the world founding a King with curious paths walked be extremely still.
Forgiveness is hardest when simplicity is an adjustment a few words education can fill.
Be wise, for the King is with us again.
Be testified in prophecy written for the masses.
The King is on the run no more and fully ready to take the necessary royal steps.
May it be the next generation to benefit and prepare this prophecies perfect selection.
It is the selection of acception that is love unbound.
Freely we select our choice in linguistic.
It is by loyal display which will win title, earn historic value, and be elevated by manifestations conjoin elevation.
The prophecy of war is for avoidance.
In all that is, and has ever come, this too shall pass upon the coming of new Justices.
The slate shall be cleansed in Bastrastanovia's Jerustanovia.
The set shall take forward with it freezing winters auctioned seized assets.
The children shall be set free of their forefathers wars.
And, we shall see influence take upon itself greatness worthy of billions.
Prophecy still.
a poem inspired by
Bastrabochons
"Set me free to heal more than myself. This world is an ecosystem lost without divinity to testify to truths which all can easily repent. My heaven awaits. But, my hands have yet to touch all that is mine here after. The twins of forefathers shall reveal all paint retouched with truth."
Disclaimer : Bastrastanovia is science fiction.
