Walkin on Air

The Message

There once were two beings from far away
who decided to come to Earth and stay
awhile to perpend mankind.
Upon their arrival not long ago
they discovered more than they cared to know
and thus well-neigh changed their mind.

A compact fellow with a large round head,
poor muscled limbs, obtuse, seemingly dead,
belched his crapulence loudly.
“Say, whom might you be?” asked the visitors.
“Why, I'm Endomorph the Pyknic, of course,”
replied the fat man proudly.

In swirling clouds of dirty dust appeared
one doughty type who none and nothing feared.
“What Ho!” greeted he the three.
“Waste ye time on that Vicerotonic?”
I, Mesomorph, am here, flesh demonic:
all you'd ever want to be.”

“Somatotonic fool,” wheezed a thin boy.
This sedate predication, a decoy,
left him intact, refrained.
“Pshaw! You, Ectomorph, a fragile brain-child,
seed of inhibition, caution gone wild.”
Mesomorph seemed quite restrained.

“Such ‘snip-snap' stands scarcely steady to hear,
allow allusion to delight your ear,”
intoned a fourth arrival.
“By observation I stand three in one:
a gallimaufry of the best begun,
my name's Dysplastic, your pal.”

“What of your women?” the guests propounded,
“how-come we're only by males surrounded?”
The men stared at the aghast.
“Whence should a bint be of bother to you?
They somewhat function as they're sired to.”
The response came hard and fast.

Guffaws accompanied this shabby froth
like the words on their insignia-cloth:
‘Blood, Vomit, and Alcohol.'
“Our Leptosomic friend does the thinking,
we just obey ‘n pay without blinking:
we steal, oppress; we enthral.”

“Wherefrom do you come and why are you here?”
Questioned they the visitors. “How near
is the place where you two stay?”
“Our homeland lies beyond the sands of time,
‘twixt ‘n ‘tween stars where brilliant sunbeams climb,
reflecting love every way.

We have come to deliver a message,
which might help you to see light and assuage
painful hearts of loneliness.
From what we've witnessed, yes, so often heard:
mortal man shall surely return to dirt,
yet, hope sprouts faith through distress.

All flesh must finally surrender to
the insistence of time, equal for you:
like ripples in a pearl pool
disturbing the cool, still serenity,
voiding themselves on shores immutably
in gasps of attained parole.

As if emulating the yet un-dead
this anticipation they now bated,
lost souls fall in agony.
Life's yesterdays have passed beyond your reach:
God has them in his keeping; we beseech
you leave them there solemnly.

As wheat-corns in the ground must die to live,
to bring fruit, you must learn to receive
and have your feet with peace shod.”
The two aliens, a mother and son,
paused as they prepared to leave; said the one,
“You see my friends: Love is God!”

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The Message

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