Pipelines or Vowels,
either sound loud,
the 'Letters' of been,
had an akin.
The language of,
a hashtag or boss,
a life or an albatross?
The Line of ink,
a writers leave.
The essay of the poems perceived,
a riddle or a rhythmic move of boarded cheese,
the mouse not trapped with the Rat removed.
Old or Past,
ancient in last,
Ages will add,
subtraction is tack,
the pin of the corked screw.
The sample quoted delivered sack,
a bread boxed approach,
to date, to sort, keep in line,
the Baker of Sourdough starts,
an Apprentice Park,
curbing saved lives in a confidence game running stuns.
Why be of purpose when it's a Race.
Why ask questions when you are told all the answers.
Why dream when reality is so perfectly served you're drowning in it.
Why face the Sun if it is meant to leave too.
Why try when all fails.
Why exist if all we do is die.
Why be responsible if you cannot be accountable.
Why issue hope when life is absurd.
Why stop anything.
Why remember.
Why read.
Why bother.
Why feel guilty.
Why get together if we all die alone.
Why are we here if we are not meant to meet.
Why speak when no one talks.
What's the point when your life has been driven in so deeply, that the World becomes a ghost and the shadow is dying.
Crisping Importance with tidy wipes,
dustpans,
a stitch in time saves Nine!!
Darning
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