Your heart is full of fire
Coal black but gentle as the moon
Your sun is fierce and full of grace
Are you mad at the way
The earth revolves around them?
Or is your soul yearning
For the stars that give life
To the endless summers?

Poet lives amongst people,
in the land of sadness and happiness, where they live,
he dresses up like them, speaks like them,
in their language he had to learn.
But when he is on his own, he speaks in own tongue
to not to forget it.
He speaks with the dead, he keeps in touch with them,
to make sure everything goes according to plan.

He is afraid to tell what he sees,
in case people put him down and disbelieve.
He forces himself to keep his mouth shut,
he knows the price. He can't just die,
he's on a mission. So carefully
he smuggles in the truth in his poetry.

Laburnum drooped its yellowest
Dull before me, sadly displayed
Benevolence turned jaundice, yellowish
Jealousy's desire, flowering sprites made
Yellow-eyed-monsters, distrust, umbrage

His look, laburnum, fallen eaves
Sun captured smote, yellow-eyed
Uttering to himself, "Mine," and "Me"
He went on as such, yes, fellow cried
What I saw, coveting, all yellow-eyed

Dear Dr. Heartthrob,
 
I’m guessing you did not know
Yesterday I was admitted to emergency
Taken from clinic in a death march
You pretended not to notice my urgency
Guess that all has to do with insurgency
 
That’s quite all right by me
My seizures are not pretty little features
The drug mishap is likely not to blame
No, they did not call any preachers
Agnostic I am and devoted to creatures
 
I have a complicated medicine regimen
Which is to be rationalized by conspiring minds
Dr. Eyes That Melt Me is a brilliant young intern
He had gizmos and probe scopes and interesting finds
He knows more specialists dealing in matters of these kinds
 
We had such intimate talks together
So I hope you're not embarrassed to hear
I’m firing you for lack of bedside manner
Though in fact you were prescriptively dear
My heart is now weak for another I fear
 
Your Loving Patient,
Poopsy

The trees are at war
They speak in signals unidentified by man
That if you are a flower
You understand

The trees are at war
And all the roots connected underground
They communicate
They know your here

The trees are at war
Because we as man can have a small  axe
And chop them down
As we've done many times before

The trees are at war
Chemical and biological
Pollen in the air
Their budding the leaves of chaos

The trees are at war
And at all times they conspire
They only really want
To deprive us of oxygen