The reality that is before us quietly glistens
From the heart that utters what the words are;
Speech capsizes, thought overrides, as before,
As a real gesture of benevolence.
Never in the duty of any man does a posture be certain,
For it reflects the return to the world in its entirety.
Names are devils, faces are institutions of greed,
So then fighters fight for ferocious reasons.
In my mind the inner light is blessed,
Acts fly past for all to the breast,
Letting colours work for the better,
Finding strangeness as a begetter,
March along time to eradicate the one,
Forcing us into stronger ties, more lies;
This pit of dreams forbids us to mutter,
To utterances of the last sort we prize.
Ingenious inspiration quietens the nook of ideas so faithful,
Assemblies of essays ceremoniously convene to provide the foreseeing;
The roof fell down the next day to improve the landscape,
Inspiring others in the field of work too extravagant, called building.
To pound the poor needs practice,
My praise is for the jumpers within;
Not in a million years do shapes appear,
For poor people to see the light of day.
A thousand suns rise in the dawn,
One of them is ours to stay all the morning;
Let moons be damned yesterday,
The stars of the night come out to play.
Spicy slippery slopes inhabit my ebony arms,
And my legs live with the inhabitants in armies
Of the immediate surroundings,
Carefully they survey and forecast with the forts
The adding and subtracting combined to make
My numbers work like words and positions
Offering powerful premises congealing in mud,
Fitting to the eye that stares,
Revered hills are dedicated to the slings,
They wrapped the mud and big clods
And tossed their heads at the invulnerable to this day,
Feet hoaxed their stare, toes smashed and glared