Every poem is about one little thing
Something very special to us
So special,
we wrote a poem about it
And if only we could fully express what that little thing is

That little thing buried inside our hearts waiting to burst out into the world
just aching to be told
Maybe because we want to express our love
Or to let out our pain

I just want to be free of these thoughts.

Don't go
I need you
here,
with me.

I'm gonna be all alone.

That's not true
I have friends
But none like you.

You're a special friend and I don't want you to go.
Can't you just stay? For one more night.
One more night before you go.
Just until tomorrow,
just for one more game,
just one more round,
just five more minutes.

Because I won't be there when you're gone.

I hear words in my mind
They are meaningless noises given mean by our lessons
But what it means to you is
not the same
as to what the noises mean to me
STOP
now listen
for they are speak in a tongue only you know to understand
the words of the people that which you come from
What does it mean?
What does it mean to you?
Make a sound, add a little extra flair
now it's a word.
What does it mean?
give it a voice of definition
now you got meaning.
Put them all together and it's a phase,
a little more
now a sentence.
Take away the meat and add some flair
don't forget your points or it wont mean a thing
And now

Watch as they all read, they all think different of it, yet it has but one meaning.
Your meaning, which can never be fully translated.
It will be
Misunderstood
Misinterpreted
Misjudged
You can have it judged right, only slightly.
But is it close enough?

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Solemn adventures delve deep into an ancient tower
built of black steel
unable to be topped
older than all before it

Inside lies a being, older than the tower
At it answers all with one question
"Who are you?"
It looks at them, without eyes, only a mouth an tentacles covered in black ooze

"̷̨̨͔͉̖̣̘̞̹͍͔͇͍͊̊̏̓͌Ǐ̶̢̡̨̬͔̞̠͈̮̜̿̄̽͜͝͝ ̵̬̹͈̗̝̯͈̼̹̊͒͗͑́̑̆̂͐́ͅạ̸͎̼͚̪̇͋͋̽́̓͛̃͗̈͠͠m̶̧̼͔͖̼͍̤͛ ̵̗̝͙͛̐̈́̓̿t̷̛̜̝̬̺̰̱̀̽̇̓̉͐̍̊ͅh̵̭̲̦͕̬̫̬͖͗̂̑̈̇̅͘͝ě̶̤̬̼̙͓̝̑͆̍̑̈̾̉̀̄́̿­ ̸̛͚̒̕̚̕s̵̯̱̪̲̞̰̮̉͂̆̐̓i̴̢̛̘̬͇͉̱̞̯̱̘͚͛̎̌̒̆̆̇n̷̡̧̮̮̲͔͚̳̏͘ͅs̴̀̈́̍̏̾́́̅­̧̣̬̜̹̻̲̖͚̹̟̑͋̾̈́̕͜ ̶̢̪͔̹͇̩̠̩̯̝̜̂̀͘͝ͅͅȯ̷̳̤̅͌̀ͅf̸̨̣͇̬͖̻͉͎̩̭̯͗̈́̀͒͆͑̐̒́͛̈́̚ ̸̨͉̲͉̩̻̼͈̖͈͎͇̭̐ẏ̸̨̲͍̲͍̖̩͗͛̐̕ó̵̡̙̺̖̤̣̳͖͔̺̰̟̓͝u̸̖̤̞̰̿̑̚͘r̵̀̀͛̋̾̿͝­͇̠̗͇̤̹͖̗̱͂ͅ ̸͙̯̬̳͉͍̻̜̤̯̫̜̣̎̀̑̀͐̑á̵̮͔̖̳̪͛͌́̐̑̈́̚ň̷̢̲̮̹̲̟̪̥̦̞̉̾̂̈́c̷̥̫̼̹̠̫̪̫̘̾͛­̹̹̫e̸̜̞͉̙͖̲̹̳̖̳͔̪͒̓̌̓̅̚͝s̵̨̡̝̫͓͚̭͇̪͍̟̦̠͝t̶̪͙̮̗̘̱̰͚͒̿̓̊͘͘o̸͎̥͋̐͋̿͆­͉͓̩ř̸̢̡͚̜̰̣̍͐͋̀̑͊s̷̨̗̟̯͈͋͠.̴̜̺̗͍̜̯͓͓̍͑̈́̄̓͗"̵̨̰̜̥̣͍̈̅̇̿͜

If only I had a horribly tragic life to rant about in a poem to generate tons of fans and money.

I'm a little silly boy,
look at the silly noises.
Hear the way you watch yourself in the noses.
Istanbul
De dum doop dada ding ****
Now watch as they begin to dance, with out there pants.
Oops where are the pants?
I see them, in the blue sky. As the chaos wisses by.
So long.
Hey there.

Now, repeat after me, "I'm a little tea ***, short and -
Stop, that's enough.

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       E
           R
               Y
Day.
I'm coming to see the truth, right around this corner.
"Oh hey there truth, how are you?"
"I'm fine, surprised you found me."

Babies are not born, they are forged inside a womb.

Thend