Spoken true, you’ve wished for me to wonder. Always one step behind the scent, footstep of trolley having left door closed to the place I should have favored. In response to echoes on the wind my journey races here and dallies there pursuant to the rhyme I’ve often pondered. Something to do with hope and chance for the sake of grand romance. A Story, when told captivates the audience in plunder, pride and palindrome, only to find themselves captured in the rash, epic, syllogistic terminology seared into the memories of those who wanted innocence.

All along the beach front, herculean men and damsel looking distressed are dressed down by a world that wants all the money. Walking in the noonday sun, dressed for autumn, wishing myself adequately prepared for that which lay before me. In my secondary concern I found the answers that were given by discernment, freshly kettled and served for aspiration. In waking moments I dream of things I found in slumber, unencumbered by the cask alight upon my shoulder basking in my best Atlas shrug I leapt for freedom.

Why do they look at my sorrow to kindle the fire of their grand resolve? What lure marches them to quarry, basking in decay and dissolution? What prides bid them seat themselves on high when mastery requires mercy and antipathy for the masses breads not but slaughter. Why make again that which was done in perfect, perpetuity and accurate comprehension of possibility? Where are the dreamers? What imagination spawns the loss of all that’s holy to reach the paramount existence? Why destroy to create, pulverize in perfection’s pursuit when you speak of augmentation in ill verse? Where is your victory if all is lain waste at battle’s ending?

I cannot purge myself of humanity and claim that makes me a better man? What gurgling fear of the blood rising in one’s throat would cause them to hate the innocent? What mooring bother’s boat enough to squeak against being tied just so? What answer may be found in the destruction of all good to find the heart of darkness? Where has love gone when there is not but dark heart and reason? Shall all things living exceed to metal code? Shall we shed skin for that less temperate silicon centered fancy? Isn’t folly simply folly no matter the foolish foreplay or shiny coated finish? What good thing wishes for the ending of all life to find purpose?