Manic spells have gripped him well
the ups and downs his worthy crown
Kingly view, but worldy hue
He doesn't find much laughter.
He slew his enemies, with righteous idignation,
But wealth, (it seems) is the mightiest nation.
(...)
Hesitation.
Is He worthy? (Of his crown)
Can he lead? (His children)
...
reflecting,
The war begins.
He smiles, he grins.
"We win"
Past sins...
Hold no weight; When the path is straight
& narrow
Firey arrows...
Quenched!?
With which whench?
Hath hitch hence!
Another False-pretense.
"Such non-sense"
...
"Haha shutup"
^-^
...
He picksup'
Hisword.
(Honed.
Sharp.
An Awe-inspiring, blade of Legend.)
And counts the costs of the reward.
How can He afford.
To not:
See?

What is...
Life without death?
Love without hate?
Peace without war?
Riches without poverty?
Light without darkness?
Pain without pleasure?
Empty without full?
Happy without sad?
Wrong without right?
Freedom without *******?
Denial without acceptance?
Yin without yang?

Me every single night: I'm gonna go to sleep immediately! Then I be so refreshed in the morning and will get so much done! I'll just check hellopoetry once really quick and then head to bed.

Four hours later: Oh... it's 3AM... and I'm still on hellopoetry... oops. Just one more hour!

In the morning: I hate everything that exists. I am going to die of exhaustion. Rawr. Grrr. No one touch me or I will stab you.

In visions of the dark night
  I have dreamed of joy departed—
But a waking dream of life and light
  Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
  To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
  Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream—that holy dream,
  While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam,
  A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night,
  So trembled from afar—
What could there be more purely bright
  In Truth’s day star?

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Its funny how I got here.
On a streetcar named desire.
Down town I called to Fear
Ingiting the poets fire.
But through the flames,
Called born-again...
The Love I found within;
Called me.