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Poem

A truly wise man's intuition shall forbode him upon concocting a conclusion's to the wonder of 
his tale's 
Painstaking to avoid such indulgence choosing rather to absolve himself and the parabell at 
Prosperities feet to be forged
The unwritten ending can surely never haunt its creator's , For what has yet to be concluded 
can never be disputed       
Cast unto an un timed Mantle piece clock mesmerizing your thoughts punctuated only by its 
language Tick , Tock
Set in black and white pulsing to the beat of ones nature confined only by the subtilties of 
thought , Your's alone to read and be privately screened
Played out to an audience weighed down by instilled beliefs , those inquisitive mind child like 
in nature tittilated to discover 
versus simple mind's blinded by mythology born out of man and perpetuated through ages 
devolved of recrimination and reproach
Be your story one of love or of realities soft scented glove waved in ciptulation an order of 
surrender to the world that we live in 
contrived and contemptuous to our kin our fellows ,  Taught to disregard out of hand if 
society's rules deem them not to be of equal status or standing
May your stories breath light upon darkened times and expose the brittle stage lights which 
blur ones sight to the final conclusion the artists staged illusion
To the poor dispurce wealth the sickly unabated health and a commandment of love written 
in blood to love that which is nearest your heart holds most dearest
Picture the future with clourfull strokes , care and abandon of a life worth living devoid of 
wealth and immune to government stealth    
Has history's lesson' not taught us that Hell is beneath us , the Heaven's above us and left 
Man in the middle to ponder Gods riddle !

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