Poets, as per Priests, by Charity thrive
Yet rake the Best Features for their intent
Divers, as per Dames, by Fashion's revive
Draw the Choicest Models for their content
You see? How common their Modes do vary
Which fulfill my Teacher's Will to Connect
Where - make abode - Purple's Pimpled Folly
And slip each other's Secrets in retrospect
There is an Answer; Which one Theory hides
But through the same Dame's kiss endorse a Hint
First - pump her softly - careful! She subsides
And leave your Buds more than a Taste of Mint.
So, a Poet are you; Your Flesh the Words
A Diver am I; My *** for the Birds.

To move in Reflex, as Earth and Air kiss
Sport Water to fare that Steel Jungle cool
And stunningly Ritual; One I dare miss
Bid the Twinkle-Toes and harped like a Fool
Fools. So saturated yet most reserved
That a Semaphore my Loose Restraints such
To feature my Craft; Though Elements conserved
And leave you Two free to hone your fine lot
Figures. That Speech slumber by your instinct
Yet left me asking which Equation true
Amongst your limbs - flip Angles by distinct
Then shaped the Art and Miracle as you.
Quite expected, though not in such Degree
With her in-waiting, as I chop a Tree.

When you think that you have remained at Peace,
Here comes the War Cause.
Due to his Impedious Actions and Words
Has caused an Impenetrable Rising -
An ******* unworthy to be erected,
Which ought to be torn apart piece-by-piece.


It is the TINGE - that Nerve which makes
You do just that.
It is he, that made you Scream like a Cat -
Angered by the Mouse
To which transfers the same Range at his
Own Spouse.
It is he, that makes Hypocrisy victorious
And free.
It is he, that projects Visions and Sights
You could hardly see.


Because you could not see it all
For it still rests within your Heart.
No-one loves the Heat of Hatred
Or the Sourey Taste of Anger.
Worse, his or her Voice
Expressing uncontrollable Temper.
(Or Things either with big or little Difference.)


Yet still, it is the Reason. And that Tinge
Proves it so.
And as a Result the Latter begins to Dream.....
Deteriorate and worst let you feel low;
Deeper than Beelzebub's main Majestic;
Deeper than the Marianas itself.


The Tinge of Heart - so Strong to Hinder
And so Weak to be Awared.
Responses, Sympathy are the only Cures
Of these Tinges. And now its Reputation
Has been Saved from the Infamous Hinges.


Now that Tinges can have a Good Side -
Does Temper have.....?

Life and Love.
Defense and Attack.
Boys wear Pants whilst Girls wear Slacks.
Students study, as they do, so they say
By the their own Proud Youth - yet reek with Respect
And Worthiness to other People and the Like.


These are the Roles - Tasks and Obligations
Which every Individual does in order to strike
The Goal intented.


As the World rivets by,
And Beggars moan for Alms,
Every person has some Role day-by-day;
Singing Psalms,
Thanking God for the Gifts gratefully given.


But as I say, as we are aware
That each of us has Roles different from
The others.
Specific, as what we call them makes
Us Special in some way.


We gain Originality - Uniqueness - the Factor
Of one Good Kindness
But is not the Perfect Role - no more, no less.


And so we Search, by-and-by
Even with the Onions we consume which
Makes us Cry.
Soon, we began to love Victory and notice
A certain Title which makes a Sick Story:
"THE PEOPLE THEMSELVES; BEST BY WAY."
And began to scan the Multitude,
Wondering what they could mean.


The People, everywhere floating around us like
Fish,
Being noticed that Something in themselves
Create a Tinge of Belief.
BELIEF! That's it! Belief in one's self -
The most Perfect Role of all!


With it, we Feed our World with such Classical Rhythms
That sheds a little Light for this World of ours
To be kept and treasured forevermore.


If everyone has Originality, they are more
Respected, when it comes to a Serious Society.
Furthermore, one makes use of his Gifts
Given by the Lord. And it is our Duty to Follow it.


And we will - for we Believe that to follow the Perfect Role
Leads to a Perfect Life.


At least, such is what I Think.
Of course, I could be Wrong.

When you thought that the Wrap
Has already woven around
You - grasping so tightly that you can no longer
Break Free.


So it is. Your Mind has made use
Of its own Wrap.


You Wonder - then tremble of how and when
The Tomorrows of Anxiety would be:
Fate? Desire? Luck?
It's a Query too young for a Response, I say.


Thus one must wait and be Aware.
Pray that such Outcomes will Turn on your end
And spray Parfum on your Lair.


To Worry is easy; But to be Aware takes skill.
The rotting smell of Fish would be likely to spot
But to realise that as the Tastes are not
To be eaten is an Uncertain Rule for us, Deaf-Dumbers
Or maybe those who don't know at all.


Every Problem has a Solution
Despite how such Solutions are Encrypted.
But to Worry - Does it have
Something? Or none?


What about God? Isn't He the Perfect Being
For all your Worries? Would not a little Murmur
To His Name
Revive you once more?


It's then for you how to deal with these Worries.
To Worry: A Title so harmoniously fed
To the Traitors.
So the Question remains: Why Worry on so many Things?

God is with us - WHY.....?