What is the sound of bottles breaking wine

or the stuff from within ones home we collectively call as mine

cutting loose the drowning crow of crowning rhyme

where fools make for a heavy mountainous climb

trekking through the forest overlooking all the signs

taking all direction from the deaf the dumb and the blind

hoping with sweat of the brow each footing is the line

stumbling upon the bones mayhaps reminiscence will remind

the reason for this journey is “because” yells out the mime

yet everybody knows that the day holds not the time

and also knowing too that naught is worst of crimes.

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