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Cecil Miller Sep 2016
Mr. Celest, won't you please entrance with your stories full of dropping names that I bet no one else could recall, even if the plausible is true?

Long men have a long time to build upon the craft of yarn-spinning , promising the archway, but never daring to get in touch with powerful ways of listening to others.

This prince has a story, too.

The crime of our age is how people live so long that they stop living to fantasize about the old days which were never as glamoruos as we recall.

The only thing you talk about is what you used the think about, when you  wished upon a shooting star that once trailed above the ocean blue.

This knave has a story, too.

An automatic pratter or the vocals in the air are not impressive to someone like me who has seen the sins and suffered wages of the ages.

The reason for your phonics is as empty as your wallet, but your name is never in the liner notes to the teary songs you try to sing.

This man has a story, too.

There is a beaker on the burner and it bubbles quite a lot, much like a festering boil, and the words that stream along are never ending.

You might learn there are surprises in the world still left to make you wonder, still there to give you feeling so you have enjoyment in your life.

This sage knows magic, too.
Older people tell a lot of yarns.
People want someone to listen to them. I hsve older friends, and listen to them. They rarely engage in a conversation vital of the day. They never ask to hear the stories of the younger set.
brenda callahan Mar 2017
Once were u alone on an island

And I far away in a strange southern land

Politely in goring  knocking

And notes sent asking

For a moment in your mind




At last u spoke and I retorted

Nestled now safely in your thoughts

We pratter in strange tounge

With words, strokes and quietness

Places filled and dearly held




Speak do we of smallness

Overcome by strange utterings

Wondering why words are all

We needed to make small talk

Tak

— The End —