Too Zealous During Seasons

religion becomes its chorus, if judgement is suspended, the investigation is scientific—finding its fever, vault, and frustration.

i wasn’t correct in my innovation, miles treaded to get closer, with a genius or three watching. sweet animation, such cartoon banter, trying to uplift integrity.

the believing brains are steady or unsteady; the systematic doubters are sane or insane; the zealot is most troublesome.

too much rushing. too much to assert. most are just as eager.

the bondage of the feeling, the remorse in the action, found affected more than credited.

a day or two, more is too much, most ask pain to vanish—until pain becomes a modality.      

the inner witness, the resilient witness, documents each element.
 
many songbirds harp freely, upon senses, and poetic frenzy, flight, and existence.
voices at combat, nothing critical, just overseeing debates; some core reality, on a Buddhist Island.

each sentence is for an element, some component, more critical than encouraging. to champion the great exterior, those lakes inside, the one big ship.

as into mystic woes, upon mystic skies, aside mystic puzzles; the interior massacre, in order to arise, growing at a rapid pace; intelligence splattered, humans made tragic, or teenagers finding grace.

such writhing is Madagascar. such combat in Los Angeles. codes of conduct depend on classes of participants.

the melic ambition, the scores of sacrifices, those at war to breathe—wrestling with higher components. such are in elevated arenas. we must tackle the lion.

the travesty of the most beautiful element afforded us—Love. we seem to get it right—only with practice—or a fear of losing inheritance.