The great love lies twixt the great branches here for evermore.
Of and for sadness, I cannot clear my mind,
for on these forsaken plains a scarecrow humbled, stands amongst the elements
moon in full, harvest moon above him
for words are pebbles, for they serve the same purpose, but each is different and until held, turned over and inspected, are indistinguishable
over the pebbles flows the stream of prose and poetry, reaching from the tributaries of thought to the great sea of knowledge.
the tree, the great love embraces the shore and catches the word-pebbles, diverting the stream of thought, train of consciousness, until the raven flies
so the crow flies and the jester claims a court case against injustice. Injustice then rallies the people into a court tribunal. The proceeds go to charity. For thought is wise, he serves as the judge and presides over all, material and immaterial.
the tree creates too, drawing from the word pebbles, their meaning, their essence is drawn though the truck to make the leaves of abstraction
As poverty and the great masses of starving Africa against collective deception, eating instead the tomes of thought within the Balboa tree.
Each leaf is part of a pattern, a combination of thought
For time is almost gone and when the cares break the fortress wall against self referendum, chaos results.
It's not for me to care what people think of this. It represented my state-of-mind at the time of writing, and that is all I could ever have hoped for. If you do, fine, I'm ecstatic. I'm feeling kinda wiped right now, schoolwork piling up. Don't expect any more entries today, I'm DRAINED.
Bob Dylan was the master of this style.
I have to write a Philosophy paper tonight, so wish me luck!