And they came home battered, bruised,some we had to carry, unlike other armies ,we don’t shoot our wounded
We give them fresh water, tend their wounds,, sustenance to mend their soul and nourishment for what ails.
They come back from the front lines at all hours and always with love their bound
Stroud where their love is abounded
To cheers and salutations and our greeters summoned great support
Some of our wounded suffered Covid and death ,the pyres stacked high with wood and carried
Meetings ten ante meridiem and ten post meridiem , everyday of the year
Bloody and ragged, torn and hungry
Stroud where we are proud to serve,
God isn’t afraid to walk freely and His grace loves His steep streets
Mums never hide and Me Dad never shirks a duty nor a pint ,My sister is
quite the sassy one though
(stock up on photons while they last)!
Reduction asper daylight hours to worship
will immediately arise after
2018 North American orbital trip,
viz zits summer solstice (human primal
solar deification) riding astride spaceship
Earth, albeit 6:07 Ante Meridiem
Thursday June 21st noticeably slip
ping thru space beginning to harvest
incremental darkness as Gaia rip
pulls across wrinkle in time
daylight will undermine a loss,
and over the next month approximately jip
ping United States kinsfolk, who revere El Sol
quotidian solar rays, by one hour
and eight minutes (i.e. 4080 seconds),
thence trumpeting seriously
moonlighting re:
getting down to brass tacks business - grip
ping a markedly steadfast advancement,
whence August arrives (watch out),
cuz cutthroat prime rate (zero APR) doth clip,
and clock about two minutes per diem,
quite a substantial blip.
The quest for higher energy, higher abilities
Has become too trite
The savages always come by at 3 in the ante meridiem
And they seem to drain anything away that was built up
This shouldn't be a surprise
As the dam was merely composed of hollow thougths
When the calm of the center is needed
The vampires come to play with the dendrites
The hum of the piercing lights at 7-11 drives an insatiable need
To feast on the flesh of corn chips and the uneven axis of contemplation
Ah, the joys of a million subversive self-intentions
And the revelation that everything is sprinkled with the delicious salt of soul sweat
Yes it is easy to love the flowers burgeoning from the bones
Of the inside-out mastadon
Because the casinos will never close
The spectors operating the control panel revel in these morning hours
Shall the dance with the unnecessary electrons begin?
Stretch a dream over the face and walk through this life
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