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.

Religious Exercise (Oh, JESUS)

Anybody can run flat
and anyone can coast.
The one thing I say to that

Hills are where I hit my stride,
and hills are when I stretch it.
Hills are how I show my pride
and joy. Did you just catch it?

Did you see my rhyming time
each word, measured precisely,
ascend your stares as each rhyme climbed
to reach this? Peek concisely.

First of all, You'd love my gate, though
how much higher can our fates go
on without? A doubt remains, so
please abstain, mainly from pain flow.

Pain flows right on through and out. See
gain remain - no stain, no doubt. The
efficacy of such a shout eases
 doubts when you shout out, 'OH JESUS'.

Jesus Feats

Jesus saves each pebble to
take up space within a shoe

to tenderize a hardened sole.
Jesus, He's like Dr. Scholl.