#Pieoneers

They Do Say "The Autumn Leaves That Never Asked To Fall, Find A Home In The Winds Of Change." The Objective Verity Of This Statement I Cannot Affirm Without Sullying My Solemnity. I Could Never Dare To Be That Much Imbued In Dare-Devilish Ways, Nor Reveries Natured Such. However, I Cannot Help But Wonder, Mind Muddily Befuddled, About The Cravings Of The Spring Flower. Did The Stalked Beau Ever Ask For The Beauty Of Bloom To Be Sprung About It? Could It Ever Ask For Such A Horrendous Gift? To Bloom And Be The Rug Of A Duty Charged Working Class Bee? To Bloom And Be The Purveyor Of Pollen It Never Gets To Revel Nor Relish In? Or Else Otherwise And Alternatively, To Bloom Hermaphrodite In Morphe, Only To Find Sanctuary Within The Contraption That Is A Nay-Sayer's Structured Sentence? Strung Words Whose Context Is Rigged Rigorously In A Royale Swearer's Regalia, Painted The Blossomed 'Selfish Usurper Of Own Inspiration To The World? An Ugly-Hogging-Hog Of All That...

We Are Within The Crucible, Amidst A Roaring Sea Of Flames And Peril. The Heat Is On And That Ominous, Unrelenting Paradiddle That Your Ears Caught Wind Of Is The Inexorable Din Of An Inbound, Fast Approaching, Revolution. It Is The Sound Of Dominoes Vengefully Clobbering Against The Next, With Every Collision Setting In Effect The Diffusion Of A Contagious Spirit Of Courage. It Is The Song Of The Lid Dancing Above The Volcano That Is Our Boiling Heads. Yes, We Are A Generation Of Hot-Heads. We Have Always Been. Watchu Thought? Have You Not Witnessed With Your Own Two That We've Been Fuming From All Pores Like The Temples Of The Same Collieries That Stoke Your Politicians Bellies Fat? Even Before We Were Thrust Into The Jaws Of The Novel Monster, Our Collective Aura Was Ebullient, Fanning Out Into Every Space Cardinal With The Verve Of Our Youth, As Sickened As We Are, In Tow. But We Could Wait. We Could Wait Until Restrictions Are Eased Or Done Away With In Entirety. We Could Wait...