Humble

Ponce Fordure was the greatest talker in all the land. What he said didn’t always need to be the most important or on the most interesting subject, but his words carried like the loose feathers of a dove just sprinkling upon the unwashed faces of the masses, filling their ears with the soft avian folicles of beauty; O’ how his words tickled their inner ear and stuck to their dirt encrusted slymy-

Anyway, because of his powers of a-speechcraft, he often found that he had no need for money. Ponce lived in a great big house and he himself became a great big person for he was not in want for anything. The people often listened to what he had to say on the balcony of that great big house at 4 in the morning. Though no one quite remembered what it was thanks to all the laudlum that was so popular in those days.

Going out Ponce would hike up his pantaloons, snap his stocking into place, straiten his gurdle, be sure that the third button of his fourth ruffled undershirt was sufficiently fastened to the collar ruffle of his 2nd over-vest, afix seven red bows on the tail of his ilustrious wig, buckle his shoes, take a bath, change into his outerwear, and be sure to smack the cane child on the way out for safe passage on the muddy streets. Wherever he went he was recognized and the good people waved and smiled and said “Frandurdlee dee do pop zing!” Towards his area. 

When walking into the bankers, all that would need be said on the part of Ponce was “Gud dey.” And the banker would lavish the man in an endless stream of apple turnovers. It was a serious affair.

It became that Ponce had forgotten who he was before he was known so well, in fact he forgot what he was known so well for. The people who he spoke to no longer seemed like people and he was perhaps some kind of God among them… 

Thus, 4 years later began the second stupidest war in all history, the invasion of Holland by the Filthy army of the Great Ponce. Since that day whenever someone is acting like a freakin ponce, you call them that so they don’t invade Holland. 

 

Weight

The thoughts swell in my head drowning out the fading light of my purpose.The signal fails and the path is an exhausted sand. Footsteps stumbling down a corridor of snagging spikes and tugging prickers tearing at my body into a past places with only one conclusion at my destiny.

I carry a stone strapped to my back through the winding tunnel of brambles. My burden to bear, It is a blank weight that tells nothing but it’s presence. It grows with each step I take, with each hope I hold, with each attempt to find the liquifying light ahead, It’s weight is that of nothingness, a blank weight, it coils around my body and paralyzes the fire of spite and hatred strength within me. That hatred, that love, that desire beyond that world of those who watch peril with clouded eyes. I regard them cloudedly. I stumble through my world with a crushing gravity stunting my ability. Holding me back from weaving through the world

the weight of the stone, the pain of the thorns, the dumb eyes of the world. The way to the light is within me. The will, the ability is there but I cannot tap it, I can only watch and strain each step as though it were my last a thousand times over.