Life, to me

Life to me is poetry, a form of elegant prose that eloquently flows without pause or break, making no mistake, it blows as does a silky, smooth breeze, while at the same instance shaking with gritty roughness of an earthquake, either way it has the ability to have you on your knees begging please, in joyful ecstasy, or shear terror, therefore make no error when deciding to be the bearer of not so good news, cause as individuals, alone we must cruise with our own blues, so choose wisely, fore great doors will open, chores will shorten precisely as hoping, helping with the coping of the despair we wish to lose. So stretch your arms high towards the sky, so God's angels can witness with their birds eye view the blessings you wish to pull down here to the ground were people race around, chasing the unbound. This is their desperate attempt to equip us with the chains that they themselves bear the burden, Allow yourself never to stop. Keep stepping to your own personal be-bop that, in tune with your lovely heart, runs simitamiously with the beat of flip- flops on the streets in their little flippity- floppity way so as that they can move to the hippity- hoppity groove that all true beauty possesses at it's core. If you're unsure if your one of us or one of them, then lay with your back on the ground and look up at Him, patiently waiting, not procrastinating, just desiring to see past the hypocriscy of the shallow misconceptions of ill preceived minds as they attempt constant rewinds of the souls progression. I avoid the 'noid by eliminating depressions regressions in the style of procrastinating my procrastination, which in turn disperses hesitation, therefore, allowing me a romantic remonstration fueled by dynamic diligence showing the persistence of Cupid with his bow, wielding an arrow, hitting my target with a precision of one risen above the craziness of laziness, fore idle hands are the devils tool, and Mama having not raised no fool, forces me to use every tool on hand to dedicatively achieve my masterplan. Love unbound is the style of my underground sound that flows as rocks roll and billy goat gruffs denying trolls their tolls, forcing tax agents unease as they reinvent their system of thievery. I have pirated the seas as well, and I all to well know the tactics they use to survive, which is why I let them know I'm alive and kicking, having them in awe, and all wanting a licking of my boots. The roots of my Master tree are spread wide and deep, catching the water and minerals as they seep by, pulling them closer to the garden that surrounds the Perfectivley Personified Piscean Palace that is the temple I call my body. Never running shotty I keep my motor in time, revving it to the rhyme that is the beat of my flip-flops on the street, or sand, or any other type of land, isn't life grand, looking from the point of view that will undo the falseness of sugar coated glimmer, the shimmer and glitter that blinds as it manipulates the light. This is why I delight in relighting the flames of desire ruling my empire of exotically, erotic, hypnotic sonnets. Blue bonnets bombarded by busy bees, aardvarks aimlessly ambling among ascending antelope. To me that is life. That is poetry.