An infinite joke was played upon me
When I realized paradise
Was nothing more than but a dream
The illusion feigned proof
Distorted my reality
Blinded to the truth
Overwhelmed by too much of what I feel
Unaware of my inability to see
Beyond my own hopes
Of making this dream corporeal

I took your hand and walked a sorry mile.
I wore my feet to sheds of skin and bone.
I held you gentle face within my grasp.
I whispered to you tales of great sorrow.
You held my hand and lead me through a forest.
You gave me shoes and cloth to bind my feet.
You smiled at my calloused skin against your face.
You laughed and joked and sang you were so merry.
I watched you like a flower spring to blossom.
I watched you bloom in summers gentle sway.
I watched when autumn came abounding.
I watched you slowly start to whither away.
But I could not watch the winter, who's grasp is icy cold.
I could not watch you slowly die inside.
I could not watch the wind blow your frail skin to dust.
So I hid and didn't look like seeing made it true.
When turning of the seasons brings life again anew.
I went outside a looking. A looking for you.
I think I saw you somewhere, a shadow in the wind.
A part of every creature, plant who's life again begins.

She's very much alive
But she is dead to me
The decision wasn't mine
She wanted to be
A tombstone in my mind
A grave inside my heart
A perpetual funeral
That has no end or start
There is no wreath to set
No flowers to lay
The only place that this exists
Is buried in my wake

The night you told me I didn’t put stars in your eyes anymore was the night
I didn’t see any stars myself. I thought we were written in constellations but that was more hopes
of my own then fate. Yes, I was upset. But I wasn’t in love. And that’s why it didn’t hurt.
I never lied when I said there was a moment when I thought we were some type of forever.
Do you remember the time when you were out by the lake of New Hampshire with the most gorgeous sunrise,
and you told me all you could think about was how much better it’d be if I was there to see it too?
I told you it didn’t matter but when I woke up the next morning, I felt detached from where I was.
There’s a part of me that wishes I saw that sunrise too.
But that’s just how it is.
All I have is stories of “has been”s and “could’ve been”s. A collection of “almost” and never seen sunrises—
the memories carefully stacked on top of each other, organized and filed away, collecting dust.
Somewhere I still think we exist though, an eternal splotch of sunshine and mutual caring, some place where our love didn’t hurt.
Somewhere there’s a lace wedding veil and a matching tux that were actually worn. Somewhere there’s the unfinished scrapbook I put together that has more pages added to it. Somewhere there’s a collection of passports from all the road trips we should’ve taken.
Somewhere out there, we are the type of forever I intended us to be.
Somewhere, in a little cabin in New Hampshire, surrounded by evergreens and daffodils,
there’s a little girl with the same name as my favorite movie character
with your hazel eyes and my dark hair.

The wind shuffles the long grass
And the broad green reeds
Shifting and rattling
By the rippling black water
Chuckling water fowl splash
Swans and cygnets hurry past
And the weather is on the turn
It's time to be heading home

The last of the daylight creatures
And the very first of those of the night
Are sharing this half-way hour
The sky restlessly moves and changes
And bruised clouds rush over head
Like the rubbed eye-lids of a child
A weary teary child
Going home and ready for bed

The slack and glossy water
Laps at the stone beneath bridges
Echoing with the ghosts of barges
And spits of rain flick the air
Studs of cold hitting the face
Turning a collar to the cheek
And urging aching feet
Home-fire yearning me home

                               By Phil Roberts

i just love the monday gray sky, mixing nicotine phlegm cough-up roughage taking part of my larynx and the oesophagus wall off while drinking coffee and melted hazelnut flavoured ice-cream (baileys).*

european languages tend to stress an atomised syllables,
therefore encouraging a “cheating” mechanisation of the tongue,
don’t get me wrong, due to the lack of diacritic
in english, we have a wide diversity of accents,
no scot would say a posh yes,  but rather say aye
like a pirate to a squire in a top hat...
the asiatic languages tend to twin letters rather than breed them
as unique and segregational, but then come across the problem
of outspoken dyslexia: cat ketchup.
the asiatic countries solved the matter in the rubric:

ni               in
hon            noh
ar               ra
el                le
po              op

hence so much grammatical schrapnel in european languages,
the prepositions and the conjunctions etc.
it’s no wonder the complexity of compounding H or He or O
within CO2 or H2 or EtOH is necessary as is pictographic
representation in mandarin;
but it does make the european languages very musical,
actually that's what defines european languages
their musicology is due to phonetic approximation
of their characters a - z, alas if that were the sole +
on the matter... it's also a strand of languages
that fakes concerns, lies, and sees a quick gain
crafting a breed of ohs and zeros in the millions
for no apparent reason other than self-promotion,
white snail caviar pearl chandeliers ritzy champagne and yachts;
no wonder we have a second alphabet! i.e.
onomatopoeia /ˌɒnəˌmætəˈpiːə/.