Just so we’re all reading on the same page here:
I’m but a humble deaconly social critic with dancey wordplay, bouncy walking steps, and a squirmy face. Not some egotistical savior for your superior intellectual imaginations to fiddle into an end-times mythos. But if you want my string of thinking, it’s for all, please find something amusing, heartfelt and strange.
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Besides, I’m not right for the role of a savior- and I have actfully considered it.Â
Wordplay profusion takes you places, doesn’t it my drifty-minded writers?
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But in all honesty, most of my saviors lay broken, battered, bruised to sickly condition, or have already died on the street. All of those divinities having succumbed to heaven’s rampant plague of comfortable idling, useless paranoia, and visionless taste.
If the honesty of your online poetry brings a tear to another's eye,
But the mania of your lived narrative makes others laugh,
Who then are you?
A spirit flushing dark violent dramas?
A soul always finding wayward ways?
Or an exuberant body shining comically?
For in our long past, some have wept where others first laughed,
But the sorrows I shed for my innocence lost, are tears to overcome,
Just as the humour of my rebalancing soul, offers me my body again.
Hope is a rising chorus we all feel to to sing,
Vision a bright path, so it becomes a parade!