Morons, from every walk of life, shouted hatred, heralds,
Along streets of misinformation, dark ages, spreading wide,
If I made a movie of my life, t’would be a knights trial, yet
It could not be more beautiful than my life, either, glad of
Valour’s prize: birds spoke as sun reclined, as cars tried to run
Me down, the wind bellowed laughter in reply, I, not yet
Struck by cowardly fascism, can quest carefree, now, roam
In your crowned face, g, there, the love I believed in, resides
Blessed Graffiti Poesy 
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