Eyeing tomorrow from penchant angle, so specific it targets and elucidates the caverns of hidden mind. When viewing future or concocting revisionist history the pen wobbles until righted by allegiance to perspective ambition.

What felled towers remain, embraced by the brasos of belief? Kept aloft by the struggling foundations of ill pent wishes and yearned-for objectives. When children begin the lie it is perpetuated and made perfectly immobile in adulthood.

Can dreams sustain dissemble? Can empty fist slake blatant hunger for that which is right? Where will the false reams of evidence be stored to counsel those left famished? Into relief none perish as the heart of truth feeds all.

Bravo!, chimed the petulant. Dancing in streets aflame with the remnants of God’s continued blessing, given as sacrifice to the imaginary projection of trans-humanism. What artificial thought may cover the bruises and riven persona?

Oh air to wings bent and folded beneath the weight of man’s folly. Laughing in hilarity at the advice and wisdom offered. We stand alone, bereft of territory, hope and purpose, as the waters of splintered men beckon us to mammalian failure.