A selection box to outfox all selection boxes
this is what was given to us
by nature ,

not painted on
and for real
untouched
untainted
and we made of it
in the greater part
a **** heap,

the countryside,
a place to keep
our waste
nuclear and otherwise

this is the true size of it
the whole nine yards of it
the truth and the lie of it is,
It was never ours
trees
flowers
were loaned
were on account

we reap as we sow
and
now we owe
a huge debt

yet nature is forgiving
Live
and let the living
live
it gives me hope
It gives me indigestion
but the question is
what does it give to you?

the sky a faint grey
suddenly turned black as night
wind roars, thunder cracks

The future frightens me
puts the fear of Christ in me,

the past belongs to the fall into
the hall of mirrors where monsters
crack walnuts

the present shuts my mouth and opens my eyes
to the future, the lies and when everyone dies.

I am if I am at all still in the fall waiting for ogres.

When I was younger
I wanted a beard,
never got one,
weird.

it's about the wanting not needing
not starving but feeding anyway

I've read,
under the blankets in bed until dawn
worn out the torchlight
my eyesight too.

Are you out there?
do you wait where the lamp casts no glow?

is this why the future haunts me with questions
because I know nothing?

I am the beauty and beast that feeds on the beauty
somebody shoot me
adrenalin kills me
the present wills me
to live.

The warm sun has set,
And a blade with blood is now wet.
Over his eyes, cold night now falls,
Hearing now only the lost's calls.

Struck by his sworn brother,
Destined to oppose one another.
One life now taken,
The other now forsaken.

Once together so close and fond,
A seemingly eternal bond,
Now shattered and broken,
The memory only a token.

The Darkness and the Light,
Fate-cursed to fight.
One meant to die,
One left to cry.

Now on this dreadful day,
A soul has been sent away,
Guided towards its end
By the gentle hand of a friend.

Face flooded with tears,
Having met their darkest fears,
Long has he cried
For the one who by his hand died.

The regret and sorrow
Stole his hope for tomorrow,
He hid all alone
His only desire to atone.

On this path the fallen knew
Exactly what he had to do,
A wonderful life given
Taken by a sword now driven.

On this now silent face,
There was no sorrowful trace.
He saved his friend from death,
Even though it cost his final breath.

So often too soon,
The sun gives life to the moon,
But in harmony their souls yearn,
Eternally bound to repeat and return.

My dear poetic friends,
I can no longer bear to lie, there's something I must tell you: I fear I'm going to die.
The other day I got real bored, so down my street I roamed. I ran into a man dressed sharply in black, whose sockets were dark and hollow.
I looked a bit closer at him, to see that his face was a skull. While gasping in shock I took a step back, and he gave me a smirk that was... dull.
He grasped my wrist and held on tight, then shoved his face inches from mine. He clacked his jaw in a robotic way, then whispered 'Its nearly your time'.
The reaper delieved his message quite clear, it seems death is coming for me. This here is my formal funeral invitaions for you.  
I hope you can make it, Vi