Hoping For a Quenched

 

Please go in a distant isle,

Oh hunger who turned this body of industry weak and ineffectual,

that made the obtainable aspiration incapacitate

inside this wretched abode of the unfrequented smile.

 

Trying to anticipate a way from others or else from a Quaker

to at least scrap against this honest famish

was the soundly thing he did

merely failed over and over again beneath the alas sprouted palm of the eluded billets.

 

And here is what:

Got this pale picket and so sapless,

Did not know where to protrude,

smothered with the undesirable vicissitude.

Though being razzing of the tough mood,

bosomed by the snags of the honed aspiration

that only furnished the promising guffaw of the little chance,

still hoping for a quenched.

Satiated with lots of posteriors in the mine full of the different sighs.

Oh hunger do not repay on this belly with a disguise.

Like the derelict shanty in the rainy summer,

athirst for the debias philia bringing the tenderness of forever.

Filled these orbs with the tristesse gladden,

wiping  the shoots down flowing from these oculi.

And the piffling shadow of broken laugh

softly pullulated behind the dilapidated mug.