Destruction of many, preservation of one; as we march on we will become. **** our grass, our children and posterity. Give us wealth and power all without crossing austerity. Adversity: **** it; up your ***, tuck it. We don’t care about pandas, pollution or health. All that we do is destruction and wealth. **** the next world, for we have one. And **** religion, for there we have none.

Let us not forget who here is in power, it’s the biggest, prettiest flower. Whose leaves are most luscious, developed and flush. Where the birds and the bees flock with most rush. Now we must ask “what makes the pedals so plush”? Is it the softness or color? One’s sense of smell or what makes one blush? The answer is all. Altogether. All mushed. For it’s the flower in power who has the most push, the greener the stem the greater the bush.

Say the moon flowed to left. Or to the right. But does it really matter? Only depending on your line of sight. Say it flew backward, say it’s like time. What would happen? Would the planet unline? Would things start to slow, a brain on dark wine? Or would it be just the same, the other way on a line? Who knows? Do you? Do I? Should we stay in the dark? Or should we go to the light? Why is there movement? And is the answer right?

Gas bubble, tiny and strong, it was here one moment and now it is gone. What is your size? Is it true and confirmed? Or is it fallacy? Believed and yet unheard. Are you simplistic and basic, or deceptively accrued? Have you been thought of by all us, or only a few? Chemistry and physics: both are no lie. But your bubbles stay put in bottle capped but not tight. Shouldn’t you escape, be free and fly? So tell me this gas bubble; what do you hide?

As our population grows our connection dwindles. Although the planet is evermore volumous, the human to human connection weakens. The media; the social, the printed, while simultaneously bringing updates throughout the world pulls apart basic day to day interactions. The king’s jester has left to become an internet marketer, taking with him the king’s title. The storyteller has become the publicists while leaving the stories to the kings. Power has become realized and is often quick and then lost. The gears have begun spinning and never again will be lost. For what it means to be human shall be hotly debated. For the king and his jester are no longer related. Time will lead to greater equality while simultaneously leading to greater poverty. There is no more dragon, for he has gone, and lost with him must return with dawn. We have reached night, but there will be day. Let us pray to the king, together, let’s pray.