Mine, Can't be He.
He is a Man.
Man of divergent age.
Age, twofold mine.
Mine, Can't be He.
He, who is someone's fortune.
Fortune, because he is consort.
Consort, who word her.
Her, innocence to safeguard.
Safeguard, why not woe mine.
Mine, Can't be He.
He, who is someone's curator.
Curator, because he is father.
Father, of that angel.
Angel, who ought to be sheltered by him.
Him, and his Zion.
Zion, which can't be mine.
Mine, Can't be He.
He, slice of ethical society.
Society, which doesn't appraise the vehemence.
Vehemence, could be for me.
Me, slice of again same mankind.
Mankind, which will never, ever, sanction he be mine.
Mine, Can't be He.

Can't impress her with illusions of thicker lashes,
She knew it's the effect of voluminous mascara.
I've got perfect arches, but
She figured out it's the work of pomade and spoolie brush.
My ample lip is of no use,
Cause she discovered there's flattering and versatile stick.
There's blending blush in me,
She marked the use of beauty blender.
I posses subtle glow of skin,
She said I used highlighter.
My extra, squeaky clean hair,
All about clarifying shampoo she noted.
I tried with nice and fluffy hair,
There's volumizing ingredients said she.
I hid so many mistakes and erased errors,
She found out that it was q-tips and wipes dabbed.

Weary of this blinking globe,
Want serenity

Poem poem poem
One who composed they are going going
Inserted love art time death and all
For coming posterity a season of fall
Whatever said about beauty was beautiful
He said reek breath is rare
Family relations river Styx
Accepting modern civilization as Persephone's myths
And he came who admit his year passed not recording any achievement
From high school to masters I am tolerating you so why you lament
Now uttering about war begins with atomic bomb rise and shine
War poets for the union dead September 1 1939
By the end felt like committing suicide
Something wrong in my brain conscious truth to hide
Wish could remember all in that hall and smile
Than to forget and spoil
Combining appearances reality joy and misery
Forced to discover ideas and themes in poetry
Henry mischel why you the exam creator
If only i could explore the land of lotos eaters