It's actually a pretty simple formula.
You inquire about
All the folk & mythology
Of any given area.
Investigate the philosophy
Inherent or lacking of each.
As a whole
And by each parable.
Reduce the content
To a "digestible" format.
Substitute words or phrases
Which do not conform
To the rest of the tapestry.

And the first to sew
Did so to sow¹,
Not to make sows².

A condensed collection of the known world's beliefs!

That is,
They wanted things to grow.
To fruit rather than in snout style.

Silk, amber, jade, spice, salt,
Tea, tin, & royal.

Those routes we did the walk
And therein had good talks!

It's been completely butchered beyond recognition!

I thought afar, yet never wandered.
Always saw that what I never watched.

For the distant blaze, I brought forth the horizon.
But, the landscapes turned to patchwork swatches all at once.

By Speare you drove your votives,
That which was a work of prose.
By reality, it was as an artist's pose
On a good kind of love.

For a lover is a writer,
Whether with ink & quill
Or lead & wood cylindrical.
For a lover is a writer,
Whether with chisel & stone
Or dynamite & the mountains.

Whether they write in constellations
Or draw in the sand on the beach,
Time it will take us.

For time, it shall take us.

But, in time,
Will there be that which is loving?

What say the scars unseen?

The deep peaks & valleys cut?
That which you etch
Without ever touching it?

Hare?

Is it stuck up?

Tired of reality?
You just hope
You wake up in a dream.
Do you know you risk a nightmare?
The mind hatches awful plans,
Sets up terribly dreadful schemes.
What's it all mean?
I don't know?
Maybe?
Do you know?

And this is how it ends!
And this is how it begins!

It's all alphabetical,
All numerical.
Can you hear the song,
Read in-between the lyrics?
The structure of its wording?
Have you tried at singing?

Is it all spiraling?

Chelone?

It was silk that was choked on,
It was wind which was blowing.
For the fly never is caught
Until the act of consumption!
Yet, if by consumption,
Is the spider itself conditioned?
What few arachnids shall spin no web,
Like few snakes whom have no venom.
Defanged or deglanded,
I suppose only fools make distinction
Between either of them.
Yet, if by the action,
Is the hand itself also conditioned?

Don't search for me for where I am,
I'm not searching for where you are.

To that which you "belong."

Don't look for me to the future,
For I learned your histories & they are repulsive.

The records are detailed & long.

Don't give no magnification on my past,
For I have the details of your future.

Wrong is just wrong!

"This is the compassion I'm willing to give!"

This is the compassion you're liable to get.

Silence. Stillness. Absence.

Love is always so fickle,
Itself only as strong as our commitments.

Oftentimes, we seek a level
Which is non-commiserate
To that which we offer.

We often feel ourselves
To be what's most important.
Pushing & pushing.

Until that day
In which the push is away.
Distance becomes
Only that which we are close with.