Parental Advisory

Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Here we propose to posit prose-like poetry
forming a form of continuous connectivity,
to communicate considerable contemplative reflectivity.

Simply put, we pose this where
prose-like poetry is what you’ll hear
when wondering where the time went
while reading such rhyme wonderments
as oft are wrought, and revealed thusly,
each whit of wit written Hieronymously.


“My service is to God, see.”
 begins this reverence to oddly 
tennis sounding references, deferential 
to a rhyming man's potential 
meaning, leaning on an old wooden racquet.
See it raised, and hear him crack it.

Think of “Service” in this way. 
All the words in use here say 
Zero”. Near you, zooming past 
reach, are each and every fast 
moving thought you ought not hit, 
as if to do so meant to quit 
on yourself. At least, that's the lesson 
here. The yellow sphere was my profession 
once upon a time. This rhyme's in use, 
to make my meaning less obtuse 
for you to read. Concede the point 
that maybe, if you played me, joint 
custody of what you see would prove 
what it means for you to be “Loved”! 

Should someone say such play 
reflects conjecture, refined faces 
see no need to question the deed, 
for they've been defined as “Aces”!


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