a poet doesn't cry through their eyes,
but if you look deep enough,
you might see,
how tears fall from their soul

the way rain beats dry desert,
birth of flowers,
creation of installation

and a poet doesn't write,
but if you look deep enough,
you might see,
how they paint gardens in shape of words

hello my child, and remember,
you are still and steady swamp,
in heart of a flourishing woodland,
you are mirror, to reflection of hatred

do not exceed your capacity, my child,
surface of time, divider of life

when you eutrophicate,
are hell and heaven divorced,
mirrors broken,
and images left on the wrong side,
will suffocate,
for who breathes hatred,
shall drown in love

so rest tight tonight sweet swamp,
your destiny is much to endure

Queen of waves,
relinquish poor ol' *******,
set world free,
forgive ol' debts he owes,
******* he was born,
no name in gravestone

by drop of ink and wave of feather,
would he rule the fleet,
emperor of new bold world,
destroyer of rights

poor ol' *******, blood in his hands,
dirt of the sea must be brushed, everyday,
whip must be whipped, on a stormy night,
as violin deserves to be played,
and grand orchestra has to be born,
on a beautiful day

poor ol' *******, destined to suffer,
melancholic tears fell from the sky,
the night,
Moirai sang the fate of poor ol' *******

flowers in my soul pray for rain,
tulips, orchids, roses travelled through vain,
roots, leaves, thorns dried in the ground

lost glory of summer breeze,
ease before colours fall,
tall they stand, in abyss of time

where captains scream,
To starboard! Time of glory is upon us!
battle ships at storm,
waves splashes to neptune's wooden angels

cry for love! cry for peace!
my dear Star of Greece!
shed a tear for summer breeze!

the day is here,
once again,
they drag themselves,
to boxes,
we call,
democracy,
a number here,
number there,
vote with voice,
that doesn't resonate,
their frequencies,
and we forget,
unkept promises,
Hope plays hide-n-seek

I've seen the world change,
not by numbers but words,
written by a drunk poet

Oh how the ruins of romance are sad,
kissing in the rain, wet, cold, just bad,
dancing in the moonlight drunken, just fab,
wondering should this turn me on,
or I just embarrass myself,
in front of Hermione, next,
comes morning and it's due,
screaming        
                             "nevermore!"