One Might Imagine

The single greatest myth is so far from controversial conclusions that one might imagine consequences to be nil. Faced with many faceted foils and spoils from past delusions, greatness abounds with milk and mud. We merely think we can glimpse the horizon. It probably imagines it can glimpse back. On and on again, society cruises to a fault without a simpleton to spare. Where? One can only hope. When? Maybe we can salvage some of it. Forests are filled with wooden soldiers dripping with honey, hopping to the tune of a dead horse. Mountains rise above the groans of lace upon crutches. Cinders overwhelm the strength of the whiskerless frog. All that is left is the dying of the solace as the fool tries to decipher my words. The humble man can accept that not everything has meaning. (Please forgive my foolishness. I sense April 1st drawing nigh.)