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Like dead souls struggling to construct our own serenity  
Shattered at the prospect of another morn
While all along planned from before eternity
His tribulations would bring a new dawn

Like strays from the herd with no direction
Unknowingly craving the presence of the sheep herd
Being pursued and needing His loving correction
But tired of hearing what we had NEVER heard

Torrential impeachment reigning in our hearts
While truth knocks our door daily
Seasoned with sardonicism  we bolt like a dart
Back to the darkness almost gaily  

A pretext assumed before reading one word
of scripture so remote yet the richest of its kind
wallowing in our own understanding; so absurd
how Joyful to leave all of that behind

The prince of peace I pray to thee
That you sustain me continually
Then maybe I can share you
And set others free
Amen
As the guitar plucked the buskers strings
The endless space was made of things
For many are the few who sing
The birth of doom one day did spring

The truth I lie through muted speech
Without my arms and many legged reach
My instructor learned I refused to teach
The carnivorous mouth of the vegan peach
Back then I was almost friends with the ground that looked so different from home.
I was here again; revelling in idealism.
The open free be yourself air was like nothing else; nothing like that which was compressed with the stress of home where when returning I wandered how I’d lived like that for so long.

The sea was a pure, grand buzz to view.
Elation!
No sense of being alone while playing and exploring.
Danger embraced when climbing crumbling cliffs.
Excitement!

Then there was the quaint village vibe.
The charm of night time walks near the sea.
Stars!
Ship lights!
Tranquility!
Folding paper writing tunes
A little poem or a cartoon

A song at bedtime a stadium gig
A dream that’s small a dream that’s big

Painting by numbers or a priceless piece
Stories of heroes or golden geese

Its nobodies business to treat as rust
what to you is sprinkled with magic dust
Should this be made longer or kept small?
Jah bleseth the lonely traveler
But shall take no pity on the restless right hand of her ladyship Elizabeth DuPont.
For neither the black bird or orangutan can tame the mighty chalice that has watered the wells for many half moon
My lovely friends poem who doesn't want an account here
Sometimes we goof; sometimes we’re aloof
yet all of truth is under one roof

All the same really; not always so clearly
Reduce not to merely the entire theory

The arts carried magic before mass production
But still can be found, the numinous induction

Minority knows; majority knew
Sonority is truth….can you hear it too?

— The End —