We Dont See

We pray to the honor tree in hopes we will gain some of its beauty, the gaunt and shaking world tends to aurify is edges. We see his amort body a relic, sad for once a bel esprit. We refuse to perceive the wrapped hands satisfying the longing of defenseless ankles. We sojourn under the care of a corpulent manager, an egregious screecher, for his burdly lips a tunnel. We ignore a clangor, he could foresee it would bring a caterwall springing through the fields of a rotting Seattle. We are ebullient about the war we sense to come, for the coarse sleep in waiting is less than ideal. We daren't condone his actions for we know he is capable of both it, and of less, and of better.