i just couldn't but help, but notice.
For every sentence is a place:
A time, a reason, a sense of it all;
and atmosphere at leasts.
So never would I, should I or Could-
allow you to tell me what's wrong.
A poem is a word proceeded in kind,
a novel a storybook form.

Now take this sense of knowing,
because hearing has given you such,
That an idea should never be put down,
because grammatically speaking you must.
Instead know your knowing,
which is a sentence is thus,
an Idea a place, a sense of it all that completes any thought before dusk.

+-- -0- --+


Now, now that you know my knowing,
I'll share with you in trust,
that your ears are closed to the winds that blow
between buildings of treacherous sums.
And your eyes are clear to see as I'd hear
the truth I'm writing in lumps.

the street that you walk was once a fine place,
where dear and you could find peace.
To rest your head, pick fruit or find bread,
apart from a social demi.

The building you stock with furnish or slop,
was once a forest stood tall,
which you've took from it's place,
the burglar of peace,
and sold to the devil at toll.

Now hear me now,
for the message is plain,
you slave,
you soul sold drowned fool.
The ground is not yours, not ours, not for whores.
But the Lords, so beg of him please now.