In my poem, I'll grasp the handlebar with sweat-drenched palms
& unfocused eyeballs as they blur through the evening spectacle.
I'll clench death at the knot of my fingers,
& the grease oozing out from me like life itself.

The door creaks covertly, as I focus on the evening grey,
my face sliding into the shadows, unmetered and unseen.
No solace can be found at this moment,
neither can Papa's gentle smile cradle me in hope.

I'll climb onto the bridge rail, watching as people
are sliced into silence, emptied onto the deserted bridge road.
The water's blackness beckons me,
and I'll answer with my legs, climbing,
assisted by some unseen force.

I'll dissolve this fleeting hope and sink into that blackness,
where consciousness dissolves into nothingness.

~Mikelson

In this chapter, I'll be writing a rather pleasing storylines. The pages are rough, old, dusty & sandined with the weather's breathe. Exactly my point.

I've watched and also learned that linguists seem to soar in language, and freely express themselves in the tongue of the Language they speak. But, good poem outweight a sane course. It's indescribable express where every words have their own thought to act and rhymes as figures in the speech.

I'll say a man whose words slur like nocturnal isn't perfect, and imperfection is a beauty rare. Good poem is a world apart, like consciousness morphing into unconconsness unconditionally. Yes! Good poem breaks the law. It's outrageous to say that this poem can match your heart like a sorcery of visual, and tactile of kinematicism echoing auditory patterns of gesticulation.

Good poem is alive, a merlin, a warlord that fight against injustice with intoxicating and provoking characters coming alive.

As I'd say as a new regent,
'good poem **** the bad ones'

Write a good poem, I'll like to read some a savor.

Mikelson