30dpc 29/30

In the time of cynics and skeptics and imaginary magic, may we
have interesting hobbies, world upon world within, discovered again
through beginner’s mind and eyes, appreciating the retreading
past masters’ brilliance, and wondering about our own, and where
it hides from persistent gaze. What rules compel observed tragedies,
what sad contracts do we affirm with an illiterate x as we pass signs,
go about our days upon end seeking Darwin’s golden belt, the title goes
to a horror show about numbers and control, until the credits roll.
We can make a time where we do not fear to define what’s possible, and call
that cloud of miracles, crazy or stupid or naive as it may pencil out to be
those testaments to the things we secretly yearn for the freedom to
openly wonder about; a generic plight, right, before our eyes, we see
another individual opportunity to rise to an internal occasion;
a motivation not bound to help, a wealth of strength when applied
to the betterment of an asking soul, on ask, a toasty position to be in
encircled, arms held high, glass shatters at a siren song that calls us home.

…hilarious, because prose poem is my default poetic style; I’ve done like 5 of these accidentally for this challenge…

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