210 ***** i had to hit across to say that i'm done sweating in this court.

21 more weeks and i'll be able to court you again personally and this time, i'll make sure we'll both stay.

2 of us, we'll be together till the end.

The prosecution rests, Your Honor.

“Sunrise used the night's darkness
and massacred the stars in front of their mother's eyes (moon)

The court of the galaxy has sentenced him to death

You can watch the execution at sunset time.”

————————————————————

Sunset used the dusk’s dark, burnt orange
& beautiful breeze
to distract, and cloud
the court of her deceitful deeds

But a new dawn will rise
and the sun will shine a crisp, clear, blue truth through the clouds  
and the morning’s mist...

Case dismissed!!👩‍⚖️⚖️👨‍⚖️

Your thinking makes your life good or bad
It can mould from simple to
complicated one

Likewise your deeds are your own actions
Which can save you if it is good
And will be rewarded if is best

But if it is bad here is no escape and no excuse
Just be ready to accept the consequences of your deeds

God is a healer if you are pure
But can be a burner if you are a liar

So always think twice or thrice before doing anything
Because you will suffer definitely for doing wrong thing

Especially because God made each of us unique and precious
And thus this court is considered the best one
Which makes the justice most unbiased.

If there are wonders of worlds unknown it wouldn’t be found in this missive. All ingenuity and innovation of tenders and obscure precarious peasants in town are forgotten. A tailor-made war machine ingenious to no purpose, but disassembling of pragmatic purpose driven people by torts in similitude to lay-flat bacon with no flavor. Style was not the first itinerary as well, as reason and intellection more likely found slung out a window in the dark grey burdensome MOCO morning clouds to dry than the vestige of its unrecognizable token. At the day of the making of the great ingenious monstrosity of marvel the crown and the crowd were all in awe, awhile the people gathered in the halls giving pittance and lamenting what they saw. They were counted with their many items that they made not similar to the machine that they stood in obeisance for.

  October 28th broke darkness to a drab MOCO morning as brilliant light gives way to long pale grey cloudy skies of foreboding obstruction. What has come to pass fills the streets with unfriendly noises. Obnoxious street sounds of trucks and rude commuters in the morning melting *** of the county seat steered a drab venture for the driven. For some, the events of the day couldn’t come too soon. A sober male erected himself in an uncomfortable bed, eyes raptured into a day fore lorn by prophets of paisley drapes and trinkets once despised. Little left to vacillate upon he strikes his life for the fare he will need for the day without a meal and those owed are far greater than he can afford to pay. He deserves far worse. He makes his early drink in one thousand ways and questions the preliminaries that compulsory routine has degraded to utilitarianism as he is burdened by health of the sort the homeless are afflicted.

    Sitting undisturbed, busy rifling through an ordinance of papers, the judge peered out over his bench checking occasionally to appear meticulous and still aware of off-guard court officers and clerks. It’s a wonder how influential the long satin Khaki painted walls aligned with disheveled faces of the father’s of the 9th District were in forming his disposition. It might not be obvious by the look of his sparse schlocky beard or furry eyebrows but, his portrait was as predestined as the grain on the gurney he rode in on. A paladin in white, a fury fine form, ready to leave his post modern imprint in-line with the greats. This wasn’t what he loved to do; this was what he was born for.

    The tight soldier-course front-line of blue and teal is disrupted by our pocky pitched Siren dousing more among the brown of cross wood than the grain that red oak can display. Cordial banter in the echoes of the hall were far off despite the close good mornings and whimsical felicitations exchanged wittily without regard to fairness. Framed words are hard to come by in the sentence seat of the unjust. The fake philanthropic mating calls our Siren sounds before the wind are so grotesque in full sight they are only left for a sailors burial song or dirges in the dark by wearisome travelers and laborers neglecting the fear of their next day as they did the day before. Singing is a requirement in the back minds of the proud. of the proud.