On Paradise

On paradise

That old prophet at Chebar, also that prophet who rakes in the coals, The tenants of hell, Spake to his foes, Said lemme see your head, or for what it is, and I shall slay the remainder, A solemn reminder, A comely empire, fit for a king, a dance with the devil, a harp on a string, In evoking that tune, the one that wax with the moon, befalls us on gaiety and to hum with the loon.

If ever the beast had fell to a pit, now is the time to claim our respite, on grief and woes, that injured like no other, the carnal minded sinner, will fall with thou brother, and alas to an avail, shall the seraph come to depart us our coils, as a mortal man comes to find myriad toils. With our heavenly father among the highest of gods, Shall reap our souls with the prophets rods.

Greif, rumor, sleep, and muses. Are upon my mind like the goddess dawn. Another day I experience and must not stay long. But no tears were falling along with the lawn. A virtue, a blessed sight, a day to come. A rising moon tide along with his brethren among. In a day I adorn myself to live amongst shade, as the sun sets, and I am reminded of the fade. Thy pale career night brings us a task, to enjoy the comforts of home and to sip from a flask. But my fool cannot see, drinking is no career, but that’s neither here nor is it there. For manhood is something all men must bear. Heavy load to a man who does not think that its fair. But in weathering storms we all must dare. In loving another, as like a brother, there must be some, some, who care. But, alas gathered, sold with the tare. A hefty price for one who sows good. Thy taxes will come, come in their day. And may all who pay honor they should.

What is science without a good book? What is man without the ability to look? What are ears if they are sold to the muses? For ten cents of truth that our ego bruises? How can one simply be? Among the cosmos in an empty nook, having a look into some story book, in a cove amongst a stony brook. In vain contemplation weighing emotions and vexed by turmoil and many commotions. As simple as this man may be, his storied time here lives in lines of a tree. As one without this simplicity, must be a blemish on society. But then how did we get as far as we are? Without selling our souls for the price of a car. Or how did we make a fortune as fools, by selling our talents in labor to schools?

Immutable sacred truth springs forth, in this life, Eats up the rivers, Points north. Of course, the truth will come to light for all to avail, in manners kind, mirth and rind, without a path to fail. For some race of ones who’s spirit true, there is a guide for those that knew, to death and for death to Vanquish the last enemy, To cover our sin and find glory within and report no enmity. Born a son for flesh of all humankind, heavenly father among the highest, a pious endeavor a to seek the light and find. In Sowing seeds that harness kingdoms high exalted rooms, there is a place in judgment on the doors of tombs.