Rant and Rage
What are the feelings that compliment me? Nothing but mellow, jubilant sprees!
Nothing but bellows of brutal banshees, cloud and clog overhead in the leaves.
Mashing and mauling, wailing and groaning, all are the sorts of lackluster limits in life.
Take your measures or those of your tactless means. Grab that reason you babble about and gag on it too.
Pulp, plump, plush, and pillows mean little to guard you. Just the empty heat cartridges left over. Just on heart alone will there be chaos and dust.
Nothing but the heckling gesture on the part, nothing but the mush from your mouth. Just keeping this in part, lost or all of the crab dancing Orchard. Sunkist light shall not shine upon thee, only the lost and merry shall never be free.
Pointless and aimless as all rants can be.
Only use of grabbed rages, being ended on the spree.
To talk, to chatter, to ramble on without any true aim. This is a true rant, but what more to be seen? The raging in words can be very potent, powerful, something to be feared even. Words can be mightier than the sword, slashing deep and striking true or striking wrongly.