He'd been hanging around for some time now, indeed... he'd become rather proficient in that direction of late and although it would probably be rude to point, you could hardly accuse him of loitering... and certainly not with intent, which would have been of some considerable comfort to Norman's Mother, given his current situation, particularly since the latest complication in his otherwise dull and uneventful life, had left him predisposed towards looking a little more drawn in the face than was usual for the time of year and a decidedly deeper shade of green.

     Barely discernible, only the deeper scars now remained to  mar the roadside foliage, bearing scant witness to the motorcycle's recent and untimely misadventure... regrettably with Norman still mounted astride.  Having lost all adhesion with the freshly resurfaced country lane the motorcycle had promptly slewed sideways and across the wet grassy verge before plunging down the wooded embankment, there to encounter its own humbling demise and land in the shallow watercourse below, but it was still early Summer and already the verdant undergrowth had begun to recover.

     At the point where his motorcycle, having determined without deviation or interruption to take the most direct route to its final resting place below and follow the downwardly allure of gravity... Norman being somewhat lighter and more aerodynamic than the former had been propelled, amid a flurry of leaves and twigs headlong through the outermost branches of the nearest tree... and promptly snapped his neck... Far below a dog-eared circular proclaimed 'kidz do it better on wheelz'!!!

       In many ways it was the most handsome beech tree you could ever wish to lay eyes upon, majestic in stature and albeit stationary in nature, was full of life, contrary to its uninvited guest who decidedly was not... but who definitely was just as static as the beech tree... and which by any stretch of the imagination had far more right to be there than Norman did.
  
     The sudden and unforeseen turn of events of the previous forty eight hours had cast grievous, Holiday nullifying inevitability directly into the path of any plans Norman may have prematurely made in that direction... and for the moment at least to be left hanging high and dry in the lush, verdant canopy far above his motorcycle, currently languishing in the sparkling clear waters below... and it has to be said, without so much as a pair of galoshes between them, and having little else to do other than hang around nodding his head in the warm Summer breeze he swayed gently up and down in the light country air.

     Pausing mid-twitch on three legs between Norman's deceased neck and his equally demised shoulders, an inquisitive squirrel was now the prime mover in our eponymous hero's sudden and discontinued modus-operandi as it provoked involuntary nods from Normans head, gestures of consent as the prying rodent set itself to investigate in great detail the darkest, innermost depths of Norman's inside breast pocket.

     Norman's unintentional leave of absence had finally extinguished once and for all any further thought of future remittance towards the outstanding balance due on the motorcycle hire purchase agreement, which as luck would have it was just as well, because his equally unintended leave of absence, so it transpired, had also extinguished Norman... and thereby deprived him once and for all of any further thought of his outstanding ability to pay them or indeed, any further thought at all.

     The squirrel meanwhile, having brushed aside the meagre contents of Normans pocket finally emerged victorious into the subdued light of the dappled canopy, brandishing a hard won paper-tissue proudly clenched between its teeth... before moving on to other, far more pressing matters on the branch opposite... then paused to scratch its ear...  Now it may be of some interest to the reader at this point... or not, as the case may be, but the squirrel allegedly knew a friend of a friend, who incidentally runs the little B&B; further down the road and who would be prepared to swear on Norman's other-worldly life that she'd seen far worse looking faces peering back from the bathroom cabinet mirror of a Sunday morning after a ***** night out with the lads... than anything she could ever possibly imagine exercising squatters rights way above in the majestic beech tree.

     Flies seemed to be one of the few living creatures that morning who hadn't raised any objection to Norman's ill-mannered intrusion... indeed, were currently hatching plans of their own in that particular direction and take intimacy to the next level with regard to lunchtime seating arrangements... and who had assured him from day one, that while their long term prognosis for Norman attaining ***** and independent posture was by no means cut-and-dried, he should nevertheless be moving about, not necessarily under his own steam in no time at all... and by the look of his complexion, it would seem that in the interim period he should be thankful for the company.

     As the balmy Summer afternoon steadily drew to its own happy conclusion Norman, without a care in the world and now in the early larval stage of being in the family way, so to speak and shortly to shed a little life of his own... stared vacantly out at what had recently become his own neck of the woods, rapidly becoming a permanent fixture in the pastoral landscape... and while his sudden relocation may have been a real eye opener for some, for Norman he'd discovered the true meaning of be at one with nature, about the birds and the bees and especially the flies in the trees...  

     So there we must leave poor Norman with his recent and enduring affliction, nodding in the dappled shade of the majestic beech tree, playing host to the countryside and the following seasons crop rotation, leaving his Mum to worry as to whether her Son had fresh underwear that morning... or not as the case may be... the County Constabulary making their door to door enquiries as to Norman's current whereabouts... his former employer re-adjusting next months pay cheque... accordingly and the hire purchase company about to dispatch final demands indiscriminately left, right and centre for financial delinquency.  The only other claim you could probably make with any degree of certainty was that Norman's full-face motorcycle helmet had by no means achieved that which was expected of it for his ultimate well-being that day... and was doing little more than keep his hair dry and his spectacles from slipping further than his chin.
                                                           ­  ­                                                                ­ ­                                                                ­ ­             ...   ...   ...**

A work in progress.                                                        ­                                                     1122

Sometimes i wonder,
Wondering wonders of wonderful
World,for i living in this awful
World,spiral of life with terrific
Surroundings.

Unholy acts to the victims of
Xenophobic attacks,violence
Turns an everyday speech.
Government revolts gathers.
Towards poverty-stricken.
Diseases classic collide,remittance
Assassins rendered for intensely
Militancy.

Objection!!my lord,
Shysters bailing out
Evil-doers,juridical system
Not pertained.Poverty-trap
Pounding,chemical gases
Filling lungs of little
Ones.

Somebody play nice to
This,God play part to
This,denote dualism of
Good and evil.
Yesterday they gang banged
One of your children.
Drugs co-operate infection of
Young minds,youth gangsterism
Uproar.

Father herd your sheeps
To the right path,we seek
Guidance from above.
Family horror-strucks unites,
Matrimony rending day by
Day,onto religion segregations
Strickes by ??????.

Keep holy to this life Life
Testimony and paste
Amen...

Thomas John stepped as quietly as he could over the dried leaves,
cautious not to make a sound as they crinkled beneath his feet.
A man lost within an oak forest
had a quiver in his knees
for he knew there was a presence that dwelled
his eyes had not yet seen.
Traversing through haunted hallows
he turned back into a child,
a slightly built boy
facing fears his mother would shallow.

My dearest Thomas,
All will fare well,
and if you are filled with good then
you will steer clear of Hell.

Where are the beneficiaries now
that you are walking the path of whispering fairies,
maniacal minuscule beings
fore bearing legions of terror.
Darkened leagues above seas
lurk between branches and bristles of trees
harboring demons
within their wooden beams.
The weather is deemed as nothing
for the Sun attempts to reach
the darkened green
but the foliage will not let it in.
Thomas quests for an exit
only to be led further into caves of deception
pretending to be roads,
cells repelling as nematodes
burrowing ghouls inside of his soul.
A prominent light shines
from behind less wretched tangles
as does the breeze,
a faint faith lifts him from a sure defeat.. But visions are not meant to be believed
when they are birthed
from devilish dreams.

My son,
The brightness that you have viewed
is but a small token to you
amongst the gifts I shall douse you with
if you will fulfill my request.
My favors are without concern
and with your reliance in return, 
you could find yourself out of the dense
in no time at all.

He wonders,
maybe the lamb is at fault
and the goat is to whom I should pray.
I mean, I left my life in shambles
and even now it is in array.
The blackened moss
has become comforting,
I now prefer heavier shades of grey.
My insides can not mean much
if my corpse is here to stay.

My name is Thomas John;
My father a mistake,
my mother a drunk.
Every decision I have ever made is frowned upon
but not this one.
I will sell myself for a worthless win,  
dip into a world of sin
unknowing of what will begin
once my head is to the brim.

A fire started at his fingertips,
any nature he touched lit
into auburn flames
torturing their creator
into trembling remittance
for the soldiers lay hidden.
Hercules is now a peasant,
the innocence of Jesus
conformed to malevolence
and what was sanctioned as reality
is now told to be worthy of repent,
since it was not given wihout grant.
Global currents circulate glaciers,
chilling the air,
recreating the ambiance
of the raised hair on his arms and neck.
Canopies of wicked in the same cage
as the monoxides he breathes.
There is another trapped inside of your region
but she is not worthy,
skin her while she screams for forgiveness
and wield her into your trophy.
Thomas did as he was told
in quite a scurry,
finally feeling the dank presence
that he had been carrying.

I can not continue to do this;
questioning what to do with
the horror of that which would
surely persist,
his ears picked up currents
of pulsating blood
coursing through his wrists.
A curse bled behind pale skin, acknowledging the weight within
he buried his face into the mud
forcing the devil to choke
on his own blood.

Today, I watched a heavy insect of
indeterminable species
repeatedly slam into the wide picture windows
of my college library’s
third story as I read a book
analyzing one poem
Teilhard de Chardin wrote
after carrying casualties
on a stretcher
all day
from a war for which no name is presented
to me.

It is inferred de Chardin's time tells of world wars,
yet his poem deals with virginity
and mothers
although of each he was in just one.

Resistance to our ****** urges
and the potency resistance drains
was compared to
minute prosperity provided by the pursuit
of retaining 'innocence'.

The book was named "Eternal Feminine"
and its author's argument functioned
as a double victory for remittance
to a cloud kingdom
and shivering loneliness
seen through invisible barriers
on earth.

Hooray!

He seemed to be
rationalizing the struggle
with sickly pleasure
from repetition of denial.

But I lost interest in his foolish, war-time words.

Watching the flying thing reverse directly,
then continuously speeding ahead
into various windows
which were thought to be bare air,
confused and jolting with every attempt
and frantically circling in my sight,
I was led to thinking of a
demolition derby
at a fairground to which
my parents brought me
each year
of childhood
in the Autumn.

I watched, fascinated
machines stave-off
self-induced decimation
until the very last collision, after which
their motive force removed itself
rushing off to pilot
some variant of bumbling insects
and stretchers
in the form of French theological poets
throughout the past
carrying bodies
into the hands of a college student
backing up determinately
to burst through, toward the one who bares
no sons, who may become warriors
or demagogues.

This kind, secular Hannah
crosses my vision
walks out
beyond frames and doors,
clothes flowing with her
body, like a
sweet corona
sweltering with unseen heat
the fading horizon
of my day.

He sees her reflection on the moon.

Now he may not see space’s vacuous expanse
while
she may not be able to touch time’s clear fabric,
although they each feel
glass’s frozen liquidity
in silence.

Each
continuously strikes their head
against motion’s transparent barriers
with force
stubbornly flapping
into matter
with passion
and wings pulsating
toward a new direction
which does not seal them off
to the outside
of a building
in which they would be swatted,
punished for what they are.

Then the moment passed
and the sun’s thousand year combustion
had reached my neck
and penetrated matter
to massage me;

for eight and a half minutes
it travelled
toward a shadow I pushed
across the table
when the sun suddenly was helpless
to tell me where I ended,
which windows I flew through.

I was on top
de Chardin’s stretcher
as he looked at me to say I shouldn’t
charge in that way,
but I fell down
when he let go
or he evaporated
when I doubted he had lived.

Pressing my cheek against the glass
I reversed my propulsion
like the flown insect
and sounded again
my body's tinging
reverberation
on every surface.

I traded in my crucifix to run away with a man
The life of a rebel
My life with a criminal
Battling my conscience with the devil
Second guessing & rethinking my ways
Freedom tastes so sweet
But is the price worth the pay?
My skin burns as my religion renounces me
Yet my heart beats to his drum
Sins and all
Loving him is a guilty liberation
A brutal descent, a satisfying fall

Is your pathway to heaven now structured
  with those words that your verse seeks to pray

Is your stairway straight up or diverted,
  with remittance and debts to repay

Is your meaning construed or verbatim,
  with intention set free of this world

Is your love what was given or taken,
—with your heart now at ease and unfurled

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

It has come to our attention that your License was suspended-
for failing to stop, within lines, for needed punctuation.
Your casual allusions to things and times of yore
Are confusing to the reader, and frankly mark you as a bore.
Your long winded analogies sometimes beggar all belief,
though some here think that your intent is comical relief.
All attempts at alliteration have been something of a dud;
You fall in love with the technique and sound like Elmer Fudd.
Your recent "Ode to Flatulence" using onomatopoeia
was but the latest instance of your verbal diarrhea.
Your metaphors are pitiful and this committee looks askance
at your evident confusion of mere lust with true romance.
Still, we are both kind and merciful (as bureaucrats tend to be) ,
So we'll renew you for another year upon remittance of the fee.

It has come to our attention that your License was suspended-
for failing to stop, within lines, for needed punctuation.
Your casual allusions to things and times of yore
Are confusing to the reader and frankly mark you as a bore.
Your long winded analogies sometimes beggar all belief,
though some here think that your intent is comical relief.
All attempts at alliteration have been something of a dud;
You fall in love with the technique and sound like Elmer Fudd.
Your recent “Ode to Flatulence” in its use of onomatopoeia
was but the latest instance of your verbal diarrhea.
Your metaphors are pitiful and this committee looks askance
at your evident confusion of mere lust with true romance.
Still, we are both kind and merciful (as bureaucrats tend to be),
So we’ll renew you for another year upon remittance of the fee.

I gave away a part of myself
a part I don't want back
I can't take it back now
it will always belong to him

No worry, I have been fully
compensated tenfold
I won't be forgetting his heart
anytime throughout my life
It used to beat with mine
kept rhythm with time

I can still wake in the night
I can still feel him there
I'm sure he's still here
even though I know I left him
at the cemetery yesterday

Hard to breathe, no
where to turn. You live,
still, the pain of her burn.
I can only watch, friend,
there is nought I can do.
Yet, still, I ponder, the cause.
The ruthless lies of unforgiving
******. You turn to me for
guidance, mistake, perhaps,
your life the remittance? Friend,
for your sake, I ask forgiveness.

Nothing but shattered glass
where the emerald city stood
the remittance of dreams shattered
echo's of a distant stars and pasts

This is where the blind girl cried
her cheeks covered in blood
this is where the bomb went off
and all her dreams obliterated

The swans with broken necks
drag themselves to her side
and in her agony she dies
in the burning she resides

As she fades from view
children wave playing with fire
she smiles politely
then disappears in a black hue

She is the dark future
a way man might become
a smiling puppy
dying for a home


By christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

Hope set on repetition
Single sentences, remittance
Cataclysmic, for a single state
Left to divide the remainder

Still, hypnotic trained psychosis
Found me scoffing at the notion
Growing old, centered delusional
Truth for something final

Dead-set pan, follow the camera, love that emotion, let it seep through

Lost, toppled bridges surrounding
Found more than a fair share of ashes
Corridors narrow enough...

Almost one in the morning, lost in the middle of some state or another
Neon lights come to a head, followed by the sound of the loose bulbs rattling in their sockets
Sounds of something crawling in the walls

I bet it all on retention
My whole life, I bet it all on retention

Marketable skills, not likely
Fighting for a  timepiece that
I know despises, time will pass
One way or another
Make it last, fat chance
Almost out of change and past
Mistakes ring straight through glass
Mark the date

I have a love hate relationship with nice weather
Warm nights in particular, where it would be just slightly too hot if not for a nice cross breeze
Bearable, when I've got company
Not that I have much company to spare

In my heart I am grateful for something,
and that something is antibiotics.
I have seen how it saves human beings
in the form of a lollipop lick!

I have seen in its powder and pill,
there're so many formations to take.
You can swallow or crush, even chill—
to be snuck in a popsicle cake!

But the but for our butts to be butted,
is called Antimicrobial Resistance.
It occurs when bacteria get superly bugged
whence it's late for any sort of industrial remittance...

Nothing but shattered glass
where the emerald city stood
the remittance of dreams shattered
echo's of a distant stars and pasts

This is where the blind girl cried
her cheeks covered in blood
this is where the bomb went off
and all her dreams obliterated

The swans with broken necks
drag themselves to her side
and in her agony she dies
in the burning she resides

As she fades from view
children wave playing with fire
she smiles politely
then disappears in a black hue

She is the dark future
a way man might become
a smiling puppy
dying for a home


By christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

It is a pittance
but for such kind words
I send remittance.
Though the distance
denies me thy presence,
I gift the with
more than mere affections
sending love and a deep
seas worth of respect.

A man'll bite when a woman lures by folly of a *****'s insistence,
especially when packed heat offers semi-auto-calibrated resistance,
known to silence proto-simian monkeyshines & apelike persistence
among G.I.'s sentimental for W.W. 2 with its embattled enlistments,
& V.A. ****-poor everything served as a starvation-wage remittance
proffered by Club of Rome cronies awash in Old Scratch's essence
Pray, now is the high-falutin time for crucially-critical malevolence
as the clock's run down on Christopher Columbus-era benevolence
with its cutesy, island-hopping taste of Español y Italiano violence
reminiscent of braking gruffly signaled by one cloudy pork pie lens
& a hospital staff's staph as breached is the infection-control fence

Deployed in retention
Ensued with belation
Contain the remittance
It’s a conveying of detention
I know more than the knowing has held for us
Knowing is but a contemporary insecurity
Redefine the concept of insecurity
I am nothing but the moment you lost
Inside the absence, I refuel the abscess
Do you want to know more?
I doubt you could even realize
The perception you create
From now to then
From then to now
Realize how little you know
How little you have to know
So you can know

Debate with me again
Tell me what is right
I’d like to know
Not because its right
Not because your true
Not because I want to know
Simply because
You need to express yourself
You need to rid yourself of this perception
Speak to me of it
Tell me all the things
I will tell you what I think
Evolution of the individual will occur
Evolution of thought
Find the reason and the fallacies
In your perception
Pick at the bad parts
Eat them
And learn

Debated in conveyed restriction
I am nothing but the moment of insurrection
Tell me again where I left the content
Where the mind of the moment delayed
I am nothing but your true self
Your delayed self
Can you tell me what I am?
Tell me where I am?
Tell me who I am?
Try again
It might work
Maybe I’ll become what you envision me to be
But to me
I am nothing
I am everything
I am the abscess
I am the whole
I am the void
Tell me where to go
And I will devour it whole
With my little eyes
My little perceivers
The tools at my disposal tell me
That I need to reinvent the perception
The conception
Birth me again
In your mind

Are you repentant?
Inside the mind of yourself
Don’t lose it
Don’t get lost
I can’t tell what is going on in there
I want to know
Please tell me
Please help me understand
I want to help
I want to learn what is going on inside the universe of your mind
Share with me the troubles you experience
Allow me to partake in your perception
Please

I know how long it took
I know nothing of how long it took
Share with the pair
I tell a tail of sharing sharers
Insight of the denial
I combine the telling contraband of retroactive contradiction
Tell me again where I lost my soul
Maybe I’ll find my mind too
Lost in the seas of the sky
Floating among the dirt of the clouds
Dusting in the space of our abscess
Continue for me
In absence of me
With me
I want to show you the stars in our puddles
The grains of sand in our hair grind a song of continuity
Sleep tightly so they may gravel out the notes
Grind and grind the grits of doom
You are telling of a certainty
Continued in absence
I want to retell the tale of telling
Do it again in the absence of abscess
Share the wound with me and I will spit in it
I will mend it with my hate
Tighter than any bottleneck
I will captivate the death of your soul
Share with me the light in your death
Share with me the continuity of your mind
I will delay the momentary perception for you
I will love you from the rinds and mends and molds
I will devour your soul

Ah..., how I idolize the days of yore
before June twentieth, and twenty first
two thousand twenty three
when utter senselessness wore,
a trail of woe brutally
ravaging and savaging mine psyche,
yours truly attests gullibility tore
and rent asunder
leaving cumulative finances
decimated, pulverized, and frankly zapped
rendering me poor
as a Unitarian church mouse named Kishore
***** deed done dirt cheap extempore
courtesy yours oblivious to "red flags."

I still bitterly lament how
the computer/scammer
who called himself "Harvey Specter"
exhibited exceptional faux zeal
and blame myself,
whereby figurative cog and wheel
within sixty plus shades
housing mine gray matter
did not properly turn
ordinarily (when perspicacity,
sensitivity, and acuity optimally function)

setting off an ear splitting squeal
loud enough to rouse
a sleeping Leviathan
when upon awakening would bellow
now cue the giant
from Jack and the beanstalk
Fee-fi-fo-fum!
I smell the blood
of an Englishman:
Be he alive, or be he dead,
I'll grind his bones to make my bread.

Nevertheless significant loss
viz medium of exchange
(enriching the coffers of another -
particularly him that scoundrel
née fraudster foisting financial fiasco
frazzling father most definitely nonideal
modus operandi I envisioned,
hence the gofundme page
(ofttimes sited with
gentility, honesty, integrity...
when crafting previous poems),
yet passage of time did not heal

severe financial hemorrhage,
keeping checking and savings accounts
analogously under critical care
(think intensive care),
whereby heroic measures undertaken
wads of cold cash linkedin
to many intravenous tubes
but ideally capitol offense
aired once again toward remuneration
imposed upon ganef

who bled me dry
courtesy convincingly, glibly, liberally...
sweet talking his way,
and I swallowed hook, line and sinker
(fabrication that Citizens bank employees
scheming to siphon investments)
yielded zilch (the big goose egg),
absolute zero positive result,
i.e. even partial remittance of lost monies,
when yours truly did make an appeal.

I'll leave this world to you
the full breadth of latitude
and the stretch of longitude
this is bequeathed to the resolute
those who stood against the storm
bending when all others broke
the survivors with reserves of hope
now the time is of your own

all you review from mountain tops
this legacy left by those who broke
is the remittance for their sins
lest you feel cheated as a consequence
the just rewards for those who loathed
wishing others would be destroyed
now their desires have come to pass
into forevers meant to last

the others may sift the dust
this is what we are to return
some the sooner than others left
behind to wonder about mistakes made
each will take their inheritance
handed down from right to left
marking passage to the beyond
a world now left to be resolved.

© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200203.

I am fury and glass
shattered so fast
that shards slash
and bleed me
before I can see freely,
thin lines of red streaking
and seeking something
underneath the skin.

As I walk through the wearisome
world that I live in,
with abusive people
and all that I give them,
that unspoken permission
to continue hurting
that heart that keeps turning
in self-recrimination,
ready for self-immolating,
exploding and incinerating,
cause I am tired of debating,
or outright stating
that I deserve better
than this ever-inflating bitterness;

When I cannot even
speak into existence
a pittance of the vengeance
that you deserve,
that well-earned remittance,
because my level of empathy
extends to those who hurt me,
while constantly denying
mercy for myself.

I am fatigued and ready to
fall to a slumber were
everyone I ever knew
can no longer reach
out and intrude
with their crude rude
self-important attitude.
Till, I am finally impervious
to all of this madness.

This friend to you is the ****** of me...

That much work was invited to be an augur for
that which took place while pamping your ***** face
When you first choose to defeat the imbued and mortified
you'll follow prints of clarity and you yourself, which is self defiled
Sit in the hash marks of the hay it's the reason your face is in a friend play

Rest in peace guffaw, badly and sadly keeping a nest
for the Phoenix's age is a part of the glory and splendor
Say its pet to impress your companion incumbent mayor
Through a fraction of infractions, of less I'd be crolling myself
on Friday evenings you don't get to go there, no more posey tosey slim suga' zoey
We're in remittance all the way from our pacific coast playground
Into being that friend to you and I to the ****** in me
which breaks Solomon duty's glib structure and ends the deaf ambiance
As if watching it translate into a game player who turns the food and slays the fox
How are we sippin of the main course How are we shuffelen' on the reign tort
How are we slippin on the main roar
Because you'd cry in a brown wily suit at the state of life
in the sauce of a business day for whom you kept a sunflower that wept
So be it, the relevance of being a friend to you is addendum; the ****** in me
I don't see why that makes any sense I labeled you a failure alive even while you play
Those video games and societies like a spike waiting to hike how much I hate you aptly so

Then one day a place that leaves no boundaries
The need makes duplicitous ideas of morale as a symposium
Then each sound place in your mind is chaotic and yet invasive
God will lay behind a chain of sin versus survival and beauty with symphony
Yet what state did the availing claim make for their own, the ones that stood behind it

Yes it's a property of life, being friend to you is the ****** in me

Save The Forests!
All the sort, all of the reasons ,hallowing cost for identity seasons
All the sort, in the witch's harrowing lot insipid reasons
Chip chop a field hop not anymore acres out the door
The storm drives in the auger a shadow totem stand astute the defined victories in danger
Mirror mirrors with the wall of looming illusions the death of the chaotic dragon crawls near alive
Tears and terrors no land is controlled by  simple extolled systemary dependence some will fall some have tried
Dit dat   devilish winding roads steel claims
bit bat   bratty kith inherit poison toad's modern papyrus stains
Now bare the core of the young ones flaccid
for garrisons of the insane
Yet still all kneel around the sins in the
forming track for acclaim
From soil they toil yet ground to turmoil from that which they begun to be bent by human weeds and their sun
All the bodies reel.. of fortunes.. of treasures.. of sovereign gold
Yet will the force positioning, of a sad and free attack,
witness legends told?
Into yesterday love and deities assail no place but spells
Could you wish for thanks more than the witch that dances for  weather yet a rain that kills?
Dimensions halt and all lives end there's no preachers  
there's no moral this could means less
than timeless cowl of pretend
Because together we must reform your seeing soul
let the sanctuary inside
Let your dual realities find love, there's a place for truth of the sons and daughters that tried...not defied
I know the rest seems insincere but clarity prints the splendor
Saving the forest not do nothing parades of glamour
For the pacific remittance blooms...
as sunflowers making apt boundaries that convince
*** tat   evergreens and all their dichotomy did
more poetry than the SAT
tich tach    sights, liquid amber maples, oaks, oh restless nights
without hope I can't breathe

Somehow I sense these vision's and all the sort have been set!
Knowing this and all the sort let the explanations forest sweetly abound providing all you can get! Science knows to save this planet we must save the forests!