if
i'm beautiful
enough

maybe i
'd be forgiven

for being
such a weird
creature

maybe
my mind won't
matter anymore

or
the way i

stutter
would be

cute
or may-

be it will be
okay
to joke in

every ways no
one (in the

room) could
get
maybe

it won't matter
if i'm
not smart

enough
maybe i

can have more
scars and
still

be called
beautiful

The love you keep inside
Is what makes you survive

Deep in his heart
He will miss it as it goes
A pool of rain
His reflection once showed him
Once upon a thousand times
A quiet man once daydreamed
Of the different formations of rain

Yet , what did he have to gain?
The war was almost over
He was such a lonely orphan
He could never confess his silence
He once heard the
Static sounds of rain
A presence of tear drops
Surrounding his eccentric mind

Everything was fading away
Time was just another memory lapse
He daydreamed until he could
No longer hear the sounds of tears
He had once remembered
When he was a child back
Before rain was so feared and hated
Before it was seen as a novel of sin

Under his dear black umbrella
He waited for nothing alone
And the clouds were a
Peppered smokey grey
They were viewed as
The separation of loss
An image of abandonment
From a hollow sky

There was a calmness
Of  beauty created by God
Yet no-one ever understood the whispers
And morals of a hidden silence
A seeker of solitude were they
But no one seems to feel the weather
As it quickly changes
Why must beautiful dreams vanish
As a forgotten lie?
Was silence ever the perfect shield?
Was silence ever the perfect buckler
For a personal type of dusty armor?
The rhythm was always
Calling from the shade
It was soulful and cold
And separated by space
That I could only understand it's beauty
My hands first became cold there alone
A single dried stalk of grain
Was the fading star in the dawn
A story was told without uttering a word
But no one seems to feel the weather
As it quickly changes
Why must beautiful dreams vanish
As a forgotten lie?
From a paper moon shape
These silent moments
Will always pass
From hands of cold
A certain shade of shadowy
And half forgotten daydreams

He was never one
For their Minstrel Shows
Have you ever heard
Of a shadow calling an unknown name?
As daydreaming in and out of time
He once escaped from those
With slave and plantation mentalities
A place of paper tokens
They never liked the silence around a prayer
They never enjoyed a single whisper
He hid from their stump speech
The blackface clown
Pranks of a lost society
A drifting thought of breeze
From grey to dark green
To moorish tones
One could be never seen
A whispers were as close as a dream
One whisper was as close
As the wind that blows
The shadows of the clouds
Were once racing by so  
Boldly under the governed moon light
A slumber of peace
A single rain drop
Once ran down his face
and such was to
tease a tear
He was once the sand so
Scattered by the wind that blows
There no pretentious person
Could hid nor find
As vintage ice
His hands were from ancient nights
As time passed by
His hands became tender or loving
A glacier that became slowly liquefied
A cold unfermented drink
Poured so sweet and dear
Which formed cold gentle streams
Beside a village green
A single Dandelion

Into the goblet of life did I poor myself, convivially jaunting; jumping for the juniper as if jolted into life for the first time by the cosmic current that sublimely filtered reality from the dream that had become my truth.

I, beheld to the newly found perceptions, careening through the trees, trampling upon crisp leaves, on my way to scenic experiences, was ever looking forward to the hopeful thrill and living in anticipation of the next climactic excitement.

I would be unable to be complemented by the moment, in which I did not truly live.

The adventure became a tragedy,
As is always with the changing of innocence into untoward regret.

Tears were novelties that were bartered for kindness, traded for the rhyme, but never the shine.

Illumination is priceless.