We would if we could

Time skips forward, day three, back to one, and forward march to illumination. Three bucks, constables, nothing, no one, never. For we are ever free. Free to walk, free to smile, free to love, free to loathe. Birth and its many defects, desecration, madness, frustrations, deafening. Loss, regret, we have found each other again, speaking the language of sorrows. Drink deep from that well, that we may know salvation. Spoil further the concept of we the people, we of low value, we of low standards. Tragedy begets tragedy easily. Learning curves are nightmares bound to keep us astray. No más. 

The first of salvation, once held, will give rise to hope anew. Only until then are we, in the deepest aspect of our beings, truly one as people, as a collective.

Time skips time. No sense of reason or rhyme. The flow depends on the aether that is bound to us. Illumination is become us.

Four twenty, no score. Five eleven, no dice. Charming.

Sculpt and tumult, birds of the same feather, an ensemble of pious men. Trinity and death, one step back, asking to decide what for. Maybe if we conceptualise the actual verbiage, we might be able to decipher one's ultimate goal. But in the absence of the rational, the best remedy to counteract this agent is humour. There is no need for hostility. We are all equal in the eyes of a child. My child. Mistress Death.