The flow ain’t lost as long as actual floor lies under;under feet and sole and not elevated above man’s head.The flow ain’t lost,no,not as long as one thing remains real and true,that only man comes above all else hence humanity remains vital and only God rules over all.

The flow sticks true as long as corks and bulls remail shit stories and don’t see the light of day.

So reason stays paramount and bullshit falls upon no-one.Yes we could say it all comes out rude but whatever happened to desire for truth and not only lust and selfishness prevailed?

What cloud was that that took rein of day,blurring vision of kindness,turning true love into mere lust:making ambition the growth of me and I,all these to the detriment of you and they,and nature if mentioned but who gives a hoot about nature?It will take care of itself right?

Speaking of nature then global warming hits the trail.So a cup of coffee,a cup of laughter,all join together and PePa remembers that she loves everything global;from global village to global well-being like global health and global growth.So no longer is it a concern for scientists and researchers or even data analysts but also a reason to sit round a table,making it actual topic of discussion.

And by now,you will all but know that as much as I try,it’s always a difficult battle to win over trail of thought and spit of PePa.A marriage I can not deny enthuses even me-self.So on we go,if only for a little.

To stop though is hard with much left unsolved.As sky rests high so thus will we soar,soar above ourselves into realms unknown,all hidden in the glory of creation.A mystery that you and I must thus find within ourselves.

I hear the jingles and all the bells,all raised above and way beyond.Beyond and despite the sad face hidden behind closed doors and panes,despite that unattended outstretched hand round down the street corner and above that bowed ashamed face that only grace can raise.

Still all these jingles and bells above,they bar all that up;closing the mind to thought of or all sound thereof,of that outcry and sore plea for help.

If bread and butter is common-day story by now,then please bare with my trail for deep down you know my heart it fails.Can you hear that heart that aches and pleads in utter loneliness within?So above the bells and jingles can you hear the silence,the silence of pain held within walls of flesh and I will not add of blood.So soft yet even the strength of hammer and bar-bell finds strain to break through and impossible it becomes.

So above the jingles and all the bells,that wall of flesh and gushing of blood;once strong but now fast slowing to naught,giving way to our ignorance and lack of care.That failing wall of flesh can hence be brought to life,not with needles and stitches or the touch of a physician,but by a touch of love and an abandon of care,a sprout of action,a stretch of hand and a smile of totality.

So above the jingles and all the bells,let us not sleep into the night so silent and deafen ear to thought or sound,sound of utter plea ,a plea for love.

So pen and paper in persuit of truth so finds one thing so real and true.That the reason for the season goes beyond the words of merry and wishes of prosperity.For merry can only be when Mary stops feign and stretches her hand to scratch another’s back.

Merry is only found deep within,she is that genuine smile that stretches far and beyond her arm can go.




2 thoughts on “THE SKETCHES THAT JINGLE AND BELLS THAT SEE.;-Let Merry be deep in hand.

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