Did you know I'm on a Horse riding backwards?    Yaaaaah!!!

I will Stay guarded until they Prove it.
           This is truth with a Consequence rather you can Live with it or not The concequence is Lonliness... No More Pain, as Long as You have your gaurd up You will always see through The Fraude but let yourself be aware of who is fraud and who is not. If the type of Love most people think is Love wares you down, Than When you know or Feel with a Passion that the True Love has entered your presence/Heart how do you not Let your Pains of the past not dictate your over all descision to be truly happy and truly in Love "If The Feelings we Have for TRUE Love really exist anymore?"

Cracks on the sidewalk can be an introduction into the greatest moments in time-
One can trip an entire year among those cracks-
Never considering the pressure a day can bring-
Now being in the place where addicts roam-
The cracks can sometimes feel like home-
Lost among us are the ones that never grow-
Yet *****, and grime ridden, some cracks are worth more than gold-
If your paying attention you can see the cracks reaching-
Reaching-
For the things of the sun-

Are his sins so great to justify the harm?

Are your hands so clean and white to
Ridicule; alarm?

Was your time so wisely spent
To spew your words of hate?

Will your judgment passify
the hurt that you create?

Is your throne so golden
To stand above the rest?

Do you feel a victory
To shame, to crush, to jest?

Do your means enthrall the lack
of something you hold dear?

Does your “court of justice” claim
support of comrades who live here?

Did you think before you tied
The knot upon the noose?

Do the stains upon your soul
Justify your truth?

If you can answer “yes” to these,
I shall kiss your feet alone
For you started the trial
Fanned the flames
The conclusions, you shall own.

If you cannot answer “yes” to these,
You’d best leave well enough, alone
Abandon reckless disregard,
And abdicate your drones.

Trusting you was my first mistake;
being naive enough to believe
you would change was my last.
You shredded my heart
right in front of her;
No one messures up to your standards.

You are savage in your skill:
Find a woman, begin to slowly mold
her into your ideal -
large *******, tiny waist -
she should be prepared for a lifetime
of your rules and righteousness,
your drunken condescending words
until her heart slowly dies
just like mine did.

Content, the false World's best disguise,
The search and faction of the Wise,
Is so abstruse and hid in night,
That, like that Fairy Red-cross Knight,
Who trech'rous Falshood for clear Truth had got,
Men think they have it when they have it not.

For Courts Content would gladly own,
But she ne're dwelt about a Throne:
And to be flatter'd, rich, and great,
Are things which do Mens senses cheat.
But grave Experience long since this did see,
Ambition and Content would ne're agree.

Some vainer would Content expect
From what their bright Out-sides reflect:
But sure Content is more Divine
Then to be digg'd from Rock or Mine:
And they that know her beauties will confess,
She needs no lustre from a glittering dress.

In Mirth some place her, but she scorns
Th'assistance of such crackling thorns,
Nor owes her self to such thin sport,
That is so sharp and yet so short:
And Painters tell us, they the same strokes place
To make a laughing and a weeping face.

Others there are that place Content
In Liberty from Government:
But who his Passions do deprave,
Though free from shackles is a slave.
Content and ******* differ onely then,
When we are chain'd by Vices, not by Men.

Some think the Camp Content does know,
And that she fits o'th' Victor's brow:
But in his Laurel there is seen
Often a Cypress-bow between.
Nor will Content herself in that place give,
Where Noise and Tumult and Destruction live.

But yet the most Discreet believe,
The Schools this Jewel do receive,
And thus far's true without dispute,
Knowledge is still the sweetest fruit.
But whil'st men seek for Truth they lose their Peace;
And who heaps Knowledge, Sorrow doth increase.

But now some sullen Hermite smiles,
And thinks he all the World beguiles,
And that his Cell and Dish contain
What all mankind wish for in vain.
But yet his Pleasure's follow'd with a Groan,
For man was never born to be alone.

Content her self best comprehends
Betwixt two souls, and they two friends,
Whose either joyes in both are fixed,
And multiply'd by being mixed:
Whose minds and interests are still the same;
Their Griefs, when once imparted, lose their name.

These far remov'd from all bold noise,
And (what is worse) all hollow joyes,
Who never had a mean design,
Whose flame is serious and divine,
And calm, and even, must contented be,
For they've both Union and Society.

Then, my Lucasia, we have
Whatever Love can give or crave;
With scorn or pity can survey
The Trifles which the most betray;
With innocence and perfect friendship fired,
By Vertue joyn'd, and by our Choice retired.

Whose Mirrours are the crystal Brooks,
Or else each others Hearts and Looks;
Who cannot wish for other things
Then Privacy and Friendship brings:
Whose thoughts and persons chang'd and mixt are one,
Enjoy Content, or else the World hath none.

The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
  Though nurtur’d ’mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
  Or prunes them for ever, in Love’s last adieu!

In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
  In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
  Or Death disunite us, in Love’s last adieu!

Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
  Will whisper, “Our meeting we yet may renew:”
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow’s represt,
  Nor taste we the poison, of Love’s last adieu!

Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
  Love twin’d round their childhood his flow’rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
  Till chill’d by the winter of Love’s last adieu!

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
  Down a cheek which outrivals thy ***** in hue?
Yet why do I ask?—to distraction a prey,
  Thy reason has perish’d, with Love’s last adieu!

Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
  From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
  The mountains reverberate Love’s last adieu!

Now Hate rules a heart which in Love’s easy chains,
  Once Passion’s tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
  He ponders, in frenzy, on Love’s last adieu!

How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
  His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
  And dreads not the anguish of Love’s last adieu!

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o’ercast;
  No more, with Love’s former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
  The shroud of affection is Love’s last adieu!

In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
  Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp’d at Love’s gentle shrine,
  The atonement is ample, in Love’s last adieu!

Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
  Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
  His cypress, the garland of Love’s last adieu!