The low life fast track
always bewildering
By sympathy, through its onlookers
A culprit of what feels like increasing time
But I know is just my own fathomed cause

Sprouting initially from imagination,
It doesn't always hold much weight
And transgression of time, place, personality and looks
Decredit the master plan
Which I still sometimes believe is the result of
Me just wanting more.

Blindly, I trip and stumble my way through the maze
That has been created for every human being on this earth
But I learned today that patterns themselves are unduely harmless.

Spring back a layer of thorn
And you catch menace out of the corner of your eye
Or are subject to an intriguing sweeping motion
That seems to incise the texture of your hair
And then transform into a slug in the way that it glares
And both hides as reaches at the same time, obviously satanically
For the sun.

And, perhaps, as the slug only sometimes escapes the sun,
The devil has only the capacity to do evil through action.


Amen Lord.