The green muck, overcoming the winds of change. Choking at the seams, overpowering these periods of show and tell on board a ship at sea. The water spearheads your appearances, overlapping the construct that lays before your crying eyes. Funds don’t buy the hungry mantra, the comedic leisure finds you in pain of mind. I blew up your pleasure trove, for these gold schillings have a seal of approval. The squadron overflows the war torn majesty, you boldly embark on a trustworthy mission. Toiling in the weeds, your shoes slap against mud, they seem to be stuck. You raise one hand to the skies, clouds are seen as pillows ready for you to collapse. Hands grasp at your ankles, as you fight for the future of this generation.
Contributor- Chris Ballenger