Whimsick

moments in time where pejorative poo-poos potent the primacy of the pulpit.

Disparaging days dissuade devout deviance drowning dreams of dastard do-gooders.

For years I've wondered what is next, when next is dependent on the state of being here now. Do what you wish, but be sure to be here for the moments what do.

Structure is required of some populations; I'll refrain from claiming I'm not. Not in any span of time do a writer's flock coincide with an artist's intent.

For years I've dreamt of walking deep into the woods, to return only with Ultimate truths. Recently I've begun to wonder through my wander; "am I in the vastness of the woods, eyes closed and shoes buckled?"

The ship-master's quarters neatly abated of wrongdoing whence by the hands be unrecognized heroes of our time. From the master's chamber to the rotten floorboards of servants, cleansed to view reality; captain's keep, undying quickly defaulted toward eternal sleep.

i have to do more to take the life less serious, serious less given to life more through what do have i?