a freestyle sonnet about being hype about drawing the fool card (again)

Outlaw minds don't do well with domestic guidelines; 
rules made by rulers blind to mindframe of dancing 
fool carrying worries in small bindle. Sun shines 
on other side of darkest storm clouds advancing 

in worst times. But end times are a myth engineered 
to manufacture fear and loathing inside brain. 
Gut intuition remains hopeful despite smeared 
futures stained with weak visions hoping to sustain 

insane, self-destructive existence. Knees weren’t made 
for walking on… feet was, so cast a prayer but 
keep it moving, and get going - the past is staid, 
and living there leaves one rather weighed down with what 

can’t be replicated now… that’s the true fool’s plight; 
probably best practice to keep your bindle light.