Praise New Hours,
a ticking clock to the foreign loss
and familiar social pressure on a
21st century turn.
Broken and fixed
broken and fixed,
upon repeated more beats and thoughts
and proof of provocation of those of
the past idiocratic splendor.
undue splendor placed on
self fear, hatred
Cast all such portrait demons
to an all masters hell.
Say in the name of the father
son and ghost.
and true power
I steer my pride,
I hurdle such thoughts,
laugh at such sites of those undropped splendor
catching mason and craft.
See my talents psychological draft and draw.
Such for lust
for souls mat
and cut drive.
and charge some more.
Watch in awe in strike
and power do beg,
do but draw based
on all forted fruition.
No master late on its drawing baited charge.
and as such martyred peaceful to its so called
no pressure built in the provoked dark heat and obtuse
slight off hint light of shuffle,
always brought on by some judgement, some danish lack of
What is this so long entrance of an exit?
Boistered maintenance set on the told stories
of the with drawn world of the all true
contrived nature of a man’s word or attempt
of strong bronze thought
and singing pathos on corner stone of
another contrived building on its foreign evered
Do mountains not erode?
Do winds not blow?
Do waters not draw?
Who is such that they resist these beautiful tides?
Is it true my friend?
The days of the self inclined fascist died with the very
men and days themselves.
Make a point
not to bored the change of marker.
The everted assembly of the now too true,
non essential of ending
as it is, an as it was.