So, this shirt is a nice gift to help you pass all those times of giving away your money without being caught or having any bills or overdue items. My Family was in the hospital, so we didn’t get out much on weekends. You will find it perfect for the weekend. This is a shirt that I created just for me. The book was inspired by a trip I took to this place called “the library”, in East London so you can imagine what it’s like to spend time with other people that love reading, as well as books. This is a story about discovering books and reading. It’s an angry heaven to receive so noble a soul.A rethinking of your life, the My Weekend Is All Booked Fest book library and reader by Danielle Terez. A river to bathe the wounds? The clump of grass for a pillow? A dark solemn place where light will never again reach jeweled fur? The halo is out, the jaws will find no klipspringer, no roan or sabled antelope, never again, no more. The shame it feels second to burning arrows thick in its back. The lion creeps like a guilty thing down somewhere to die. The sky crumbles, the storm comes on, the angry bolts crash, as right becomes wrong, and natural law breaks. Every spot a stain, every stain red, to draw the life out, to drown the world, and here the sentence ends five years a cat, eternity as nothing. The lion, the work of God, crystaled in light shafts, hide resplendent: aureate, aurelian, aurous, auriferous, auric, gilded withal, and that flesh punctuated by arrow shafts’ deadly period. The wood is not as deadly as oleander, but it needn’t be to do its work. Neck, fletching, shaft, and head- cheap, no exotic metals, silvered or otherwise. No life lives in them, they are dead wood, cold metal, and lost feathers. That red stains gold fur is a given given the lion’s mandate, but that it comes from within rather than from without gives one pause as if the natural order has been broken, it then is stranger to see the Beast Mandatum Caelorum stumble, shriek, bite at his shoulder in agony, and feel the fear of lesser things.Īrrows are simple, dull things.
This then is the lion, and he stalks Creation with the assurance of a divine mission. Animals rest in his paws, to live or die the blood debt of life, this bargain is one and only: strive for life or lose it- the lion’s jaws seek you, and the worthy shall unworthy themselves in golden paws wrought by the Almighty. Who speaks for God? The lion, for his voice is thunder, as out of the Whirlwind. When the buffalo breaks its leg, the lion lives. When the zebra is dumb, the lion is sated. Where the antelope is is slow, the lion is happy. It seeks and proffers from the generosity of other’s slow speed, dim wits, or bad luck. Its fur is gold, mane twined in haloed sunshock around a face for coins- impression stamped meraviglioso with rounded ears, citrine-colored eyes, howlite teeth, a moist nose, all run by a heart pumping blood through brain, flesh, and sinew. It lives a little more than a decade in a pride before it returns its chalk to the grass. An engine of destruction that runs- like most engines do- by burning fuel antelope, water buffalo, hogs, zebra.
480 pounds of muscle, fur, claws, and fangs. God, what a king! Paragon to be worshiped, the picture of Divine Right personified in a man ramrod straight in his chariot, arrow flying away in a perfect arc, bringing death to that in its path: In battle, he carries a bow that fifty servants could not string, and his lethal arrows never fail to find their mark. Never, in the history of the World did a king stand as noble as this, surrounded by servants glad to serve, and in martial valor his soldiers are inspired by his glance, his looks, his action. His chariot is gold trimmed as is his beard, his bed, and his bride. His hair is lavishly oiled, his horses legion, bright stallions rippled with muscle nay a nag among them.
To compare him to others is a slight to himself, and it diminishes the comparer even by compliment. He keeps his kingdom strong, twice he’s fought off foreign armies nipping at our borders, twice he’s beaten generals on the field and off it. I see a king who stands as noble as a king can be: pride of his servants, pride of you and me.