#Street cotoure

[thevillagepoet]

My brother the witness was the first son of the advocate. 🇱🇸🇿🇦

Stream that @unklekrack Thought about it 🇱🇸 available on all major streaming platforms

Among the first bred to last, he spoke into existence the stories of both present and past.

Some sought the glory the fine embroidery and a likeness in silver. While others fought for the Common men upon the lorry and those entrusted with the grass.

The voices of the mass from whom the land and map is traced from the palm of the hand.

Though it remained in their eyes. The mark between the path and wayward wrath.

Some remain trapped, others destined to be the staff.

As those who wandered and returned having been endocrinated on the understanding of the sun's math, will preach as the wise elders laugh.

For no one man can encompass the longest story that ever came to pass.

The first shall be among the last. For the spoken warrior forging against the greying ash what could be a greater task.

[lilbabyratgirl]

[nicolee-photography]

By the way I'm wearing the smile you gave me... #fashion #fashionblog #londonphotographer #londonblogger #lifestyle #lifestyleblog #cotoure #lifestyleblogger #fashionblogger #londonforyou #londonlife #photooftheday #blogpost #ootd💗 #blogger #blog #whattowear #chiswick #portraitphotographer #ukblog #canon #nofilter #streetstyle #autumn2016 #ootd #ukblogger #peoplecreatives #parisstreetstyle #ukbloggers #quotesoftheday (at Chiswick High Street)

[thevillagepoet]

The charm of artistry gifted from the stars

Imagery courtesy of Dlala Badman Style ™ Sefikeng Sa Moshoeshoe Maseru Lesotho.

They remain open in mind.

The souls of restless hands threaded upon prayer in images reminiscent of the start.

A clan fixated upon circular lines, the margins between the endless fire and the spark.

The signs of a life lived wise. For the stars selfishly guard the rise of the devoted sun from the dark.

Planets suspended in flight the products of the anxious rumblings synonymous with a God's sight.

The young naturally gravitate towards this peak, distantly near he remains within reach.

Among the oldest trades the sherphards still teach. They remain our leaders, expectant fathers in feat, the pride and of those first to retreat from the long arduous waking sleep.

May their righteous labor hasten her blushing orchid skies to weep.

For there can be no long lasting peace than the gift of a generous harvest fought through persistent sleet.

[restingdomface]

Boy is wearing cotour silk shorts and thigh high boots embroidered with white silk embellishments okay. He’s gonna be wearing a plain white trench coat one day to come to see WWX at work, open that shit up and there’s the sluttiest see through shirt any of them have ever seen. Man looks like he just came off a runway for the most pretentious designer ever. He’s got White On White Silk Embroidery with cute little jade flowers sewn in. That is literally. So. Fucking. Extra. It’s extra on like fifty levels of rich bitch that makes you wanna lead him into a dark alley and mug him. You’re throwing yourself in front of that man’s car in a desperate attempt for him to sneer at you and throw you a check for the damages. He’ll wear white heeled boots on a dirty street and somehow not get a single smudge on that expensive white leather. You think Wei Wuxian taught Lan Sizhui how to do his makeup on point? Bitch no, WWX is sleeping in 3 day old eyeliner for that Smokey Eye Look and just keeps reapplying is as it goes. His skin routine relies on prayer. LWJ is buying 15 different skin creams and removes all product before going to bed. LWJ in a Modern AU would be so fucking extra and on fleek all the time and absolutely bitchin with his outfits and pretentious and that perfect little waist in see through shirts and it would be amazing. WWX over there in Mom jeans (waist high and all) and a tucked in tee shirt lookin like a tired lesbian with a toddler on his hip and gum in his hair. His husband is a god and he’s merely the pile of dog shit that man stepped in and decided to take home one day. This is all I accept. Fukin bitch ass KHAKIS and polos doin this man dirty like he’s some common Mormon I’ll kill you-

its sooo boring to see lwj in form fitting white slacks and white polo shirts and thats it.. yall got a little creative w the forehead tats but that was IT… polo shirts and khaki pants r literally the most unlan thing ever.. i just could not imagine lan wangji.. hanguang jun… the second most beautiful cultivator of his generation wearing office job clothing.. he canonically wore lacey see through outer robes… let him be slutty a little at least.. as a treat..

[thevillagepoet]

In the beginning not long after the smog of the salt and ether the Lord decreed that the earnest stand in the house of the fallen to ensure a brother's will be whole.

Imagery courtesy of @thefabricera (IG-OG)

The plot between two seeds is a restless course best likened to finely woven seams.

The flock remains a gathering from where the presence of the spirit is seen. The dreams of man then hold no reverence without her brethren.

The way the fields hold no yield without protection. The brother who scatters that which should be ploughed prepares a nest among crows. Selfishly guards his brow yet discards his neck to the cold.

The fall of the earnest arose a call of the wise to conduct the affairs of those in their trust as their own. For there lies no temple for Cain or for what Judah foretold.

The essence of Honour transcends the greatest of odes, for even the young follow not that which they are told.

Steely silence remains a legacy of the bold.

[thevillagepoet]

Amongst the stars is perhaps where he roams.

Nestled between the road every son's hand knows as home.

Beyond the certain and unknown. Beneath the plains from where the greens shall surely grow.

Cast from our reach within a moons breach. Never still nor without glow. The cross and till of devout preachers tied by deed and seeds yet still to fully show.

Tell me brother when last was it we truly felt the warmth of fathers smile enveloped by the snow.

Could we forget such a sacred Gasp the bitter sweet whispers of a past rebourne.

If not for his laugh, or pagan hymns of the native wanderers encoded with His true score.

Star gazers in constant awe of her outer shores, the heathen's fervour from the rocky northern unchartered pass.

[thevillagepoet]

For no man may overcome the night without light.

HIS temple remains but a shell from which darkness only knows strife.

Yet through those sites only the righteous among the flight of no end know of no such end.

Only the door from which dusk is met by dawns end.

A distant yet familiar old friend.

Unshaken by the promise of yet another of the bend(s).

[thevillagepoet]

And as the clouds parted so did the shimmers whispering the graceful fall of a long stubborn drought.

The swaying reach of palms swelling to the psalm of crossings overflowing from the cup.

The ambered crown of endless light ushered in by the spirited flight of mist from the rift of her eye.

Mother's nature favoured crest. Always toward the north.

Seldom without the stuttering shutter of an awe stuck lens

The beholders each committed to an eternally fleeting gaze

Enveloped by the trapezius summit from where ancient streams once wept.

Along this pass amongst the stars lies the stirring songs of years long past. As present as the ambient glare of a defiant parent's presence within the air.

No soul near or dear fetched could leave this earth without such a heir. For such is the fate of the bearer a refuge of antiquity and nature's eldest quest.

[hashtagliveza]

Will they ever remember such a time when more than the actual tower stood still.

When the swell and draw of the rivers mimicked the act of song, so much like a mother's heir neglected with but for her willful wind to till.

The trade among neighbors and strangers stood before an imminent last will.

The flickering light of a life line receding, the cold chill of indifference was to become the norm, the universally accepted mark of the grim.

Ancient acts of righteous rebellion brought to their knees to conform.

The cold that calmed the People's storm.

[hashtagliveza]

The wrath of Sechaba's hidden seeds

The allure of off color magenta chucks on a stalwarts heels remains reminiscent of the struggles yet still to come.

The pupils of the forgotten tasked upon the righteous fight soured by the lore of false glory and ill gotten gain.

The Game was never beholden to names of those coyingly distant to the repurposed vein. The Stream from which the masses pleaded for a space but in vain.

Theirs a story only applicable to the condition of the native remade a beast of burden, the contemporary reserve of unwanted labor, only written upon ancient scripture as the innately depraved.

The wild unearthed guests upon treasures only the west were fit to consume. Or so the only permitted odes of old go of those who's place they assumed.

Buried beneath the toil and tombs of false idols the promise of each generation is but a stuttered bloom. From where the blind led the walking toward the precipice of damnation and doom.

The cost of civilization remains the stolen artefacts they furnished upon mother and fore fathers land to make room for their zoo and occupied coup to loot so as to commence offerings to strange stowaway roots. Reinforced with burning metal fire and stomping boots. The last rites were the natives rights.

Rest in flight. The plight continues through you and the pebbles of tablets spilled and languages diluted slightly.

[thevillagepoet]

A Lasting Legacy to enbolden us to win

📲🚪🌐

The mark of a giant lays with the stripes that he joyously withholds.

A steely gaze brewed over a smile from which the cup overflows.

The stern stature of the softest spoken pearls.

The determined grit of a master who ploughes amongst his own.

The rafter from which the discarded are granted a renewed chapter among the one our forefathers chose.

The covenanted chair of every noble and common man's favoured kin. My brother's father & that infectiously pensive grin.

[thevillagepoet]

Not long after Mankind mastered the art of fire, lordship was impressed upon the wise who fought for the seeds to grow.

Over time the King became synonymous with the hallowed 3.

Ever since the painted & whispered testimony of those who traced their path upon the gazing stars, the clan swore upon those who preserved the waters.

For without her what would become of the people starved of Food, Clothing & Shelter.

Imagery courtesy of @selema.writes (IG-OG) stream that LP There were Mermaids at the Stream. Available Spotify & Soundcloud

The purest form of art defies conventional time.

The artist multiplies in each echoed syllable & rhyme.

The energy no more profound than that of a hymn for within these pearls lies universally accepted jewels of mankind.

The youth and wise shall be among the first to get the picture 📸 if it isn't true then is it really still even scripture?!

[thevillagepoet]

The decade was worth the wait 🇱🇸

In a place shrouded with the most delicate lines lies an ode to our perception of time.

The defiant stand from an indifferent breech into this world he returned as the distinguished dapper Dan known in odes & fiery speech.

The fated leap of paired falcons that seasonly droop from this strange coup. The northern stars of the eleventh hour.

He remains the burning promise of trepidation towards the peak.

The cooly calculated spark of coded scripture and guarded stain glass pictures. The one who came not long after he left.

The liberating gasp of breath from the depths of still waters. His eyes hold odes from which his voice is yet to cement.

His aura a raging storm of intent. Toward the summit from which he did last ascend.

[thevillagepoet]

It'll be a while still before all shall see...

Imagery courtesy of @hashtagliveza (IG-OG) @HashtagliveSA (Fb)

Out amongst the stars tucked between a dance between noons. The view of nature's womb, the blues and her yellow daylight moon.

Consumed by the toil and changes of all in their seemingly endless room.

For those favoured play their part while the lost struggle to tell those sacred sons apart.

The righteous strife, surgical knives upon the heart of those whose spirit wanders alone under the strange calm of the night.

The coldest bitter sweet stranglehold of the soul. An unfulfilled life remains an aimless freight, treasures that remain hidden in plain sight.

Where the day submits to night and the bright are no different than the discreet light that follows.

Children widowed now call upon the rise of the village of Good Willows armed with air and righteous Knights.

[hashtagliveza]

The North Remembers 🇱🇸

Imagery courtesy of @veenushka (IG)

The Kingdom's Cap remains viral 👑

The offerings spiral down yonder towards a riveting tale retold... 🎬

Follow the scrolls and perhaps then you will begin to see. That which remains hidden yet free. 📲

Krack & Vee available on all major streaming platforms. G BLESSED 10 fold 👾