Gravity in disarray




The slender-waisted youth strut to lay its claims upon the world, they tumensce their axis in a chomping manner, hollow egos seated in a throne made of tarp, inflated to balloons sailing by on irreverent suspirations.

While the matures collect padding round waist and heart,
their world shrivels,
their circles crumble,
souls pierced and pounced by a meteor storm of pangs.

Pilots leave their sagging balloons, their breath raise jubilant chortles,and pleeping tears streak their cheeks, knock at Mother Earth's door.

Each tear emulates the crystal tune of redemption.

A wren flies off to herald the tiding to the world.

And a Kingdom bows for the returned Prince, by enforcement.

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