Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Here we
propose to posit prose poetry,
forming forms of continuous connectivity
to communicate considerable
contemplative reflectivity.

Simply put, we pose this where
prose poetry is what you'll hear
when wondering where the time went
while reading such rhyme wonderments
as oft we've wrought, and revealed thusly;
each whit of wit written Hieronymously.


I think a poem should unfold in layers. 
I think of you, as I send out these prayers. 
I think I'll walk in the Word now, and later 
I think I'll address our Noster to Pater. 

Bless us, Father. We must have sinned.

We're not quite where we could be. Mend
wounded hearts, and start us furying
forward without wanting, or worrying.