the BOOKS of thum

the 1st BOOK

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the 1st BOOK of thum


Minded with the silly feat to conjure a genuine thought,
He gazed faithfully at the rippling undulations around him.
It was a great sea that he sat before and believed about.
Polite it was to block out any distraction of meandering,
But, nonetheless, he was left to contemplate only the loss of ideas.
So, upon the sturdy footing he studied what could have been.
La mer, as the French called it, carried such a monotonous peace
And such a predictable joy of solitude without the emptiness.
He basqued, like the waters, within the sun’s embrace,
And awaited a moment to charge the shores with roaring pride.
He lay back, looked up, and imagined that he were miles from it all,
Patiently waiting out the days for the nights and
The nights for a time when the peace was ever constant.
He knew the sun was backing away from him slowly.
They grew apart by the hour only wishing not to.
Time had always been fair to them though.
It always gave them a chance to be together through the need,
But it warned them that it could not always do this…

Minded with the silly feat to keep mature through it all,
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the emptiness of her.
To remember a time when she shared his content feelings,
He could have slumbered for an indefinite eternity 
Where there were greater amounts of ecstatic pleasure.
There was always a special la mer quality about her
That made it overtly simplistic to escape distraction.
Concerned for her well-being, he forgot all the world
Outside of her solemn confinements of depression.
He held to faith though, always hoping for grace.
He would sit up, scream, and gasp sometimes for hours
Fearfully thinking he lost all his sensibility with her
Only to turn to her as she presented her usual manner.
When he finally focused the thoughts of cares upon her,
He managed to realize his true, deep, decent humanity.
Love had always been fair to them though.
It never brought back the pits of regret lost through the days,
But it warned them that it could not always do this…

Such were the lives of those with feats…


Page 9

⊲ pg 8      pg 10 ⊳