For the strife of these fellows beside you
Cannot be the fallout of the days forthcoming.
Do not tolerate their gatherings without your
presence bane the joy of your own light.
For down the pike there are odds of wonderful
things for you to seek until your heart is made
A garden of ones who leave their art in the dirt.
The standard of this time is corrupted by the
Present, and by the darkness in the greater
Intelligence.
Take back your sessions of word vomit and let
Those agitations slip from your soul into a flame
Of past tempos.
Do for the mortality that is slapped in front of
You to create the refinement of forbears
Stress upon you.
Refrain from frittering with creatures that
Have the basic individual frame.
Create a melody for them to follow and
To until their mind is unraveled, unreal,
From filler colleagues you so wanted to
Befriend.
A hidden undertaking you must achieve
This future is halted, for your coming, without
demurral or absence of a hope for true, eternal
companions.