What a dream of writers,
Upon its grand galore?
Lifting hands upon Poe,
To ask forever more?
An Ernest near his sea,
Of Dante’s own heaven.
Fun to see Angelou,
With The loved Whitman be.  
My dear Plath of saving,
Nestled on her pillows.
So pleased to see the Frost,
Odd this time of willows.
Pleased my own time of miles,
A spirit dream of Niles.
My last poem as Niles.
Seeing your youth brawled up,
Gets the best of me.
Don't know why in this life,
Seeing your beauty.
All fixed bruises and scars,
Forced for me to care.
Poisoning white devils,
For the fallen ones.
I to rise in it all,
Till fixed seasons come.
The best of my conscious,
Luring a dark void.
Hoping to swallow me,
The best of me whole.
If only the loving demons could go away...leaving me finally alone.
The pages dripped,
As so the time of the lover.
What seemed so pure,
Gone the distant time another.
From tears to blood,
Pleased and fitted the seeking lines.
This writing love,
Above all the pure soul he whines.
Somberly eased,
One seeks a fine place to rest on.
Of all chastised,
Left a soul requited and blessed.
Run forgiveness,
Placed heavenly upon his chest.
What you know...
The seven walked in fury,
No more a land called their home.
Forced many miles dreary,
All for a place called their own.
In a searching journey on,
They seek lost treasures hidden.
Each land to step, cross and come,
These exiled souls forbidden.
A rescuing hero large,
He seeks to redeem himself.
Even if till a last charge,
Saving souls fighting their Hell.
Kingdoms to come together,
For peace and love forever.
And the epic saga continues...
I know he loves me,
With it easy to tell.
For years we don't talk,
With the years as its spell.
What more can I do,
Letting the time on dwell?
This so a story,
The nights I seek to roam.
A mystery paved,
A place I feel is Rome.
Haunted away home,
Here out my love to own.
Beyond something ours,
Knowing love us afar.
Barely laid hands on blood,
No thicker than simple sweet water.
No love of theirs for mine,
Neither substances one another.
Here lost in my own void,
Our own wounds to accompany us.
Love to be on my side,
Lost these sheep turned over to the wolves.
Who am I to stand fall,
Defenseless to the whims, souls and wills,
How am I to abide,
Facing the demons, shadows and ills?
Watching the sheep and wolves,
Bleating and howling amoung the wolds.
Nature has a way of things. I realize now this force of nature as well.
Can such a force cease fire,
When all is lost for help?
Forces to cease at all,
Where all the lost to dwell?
Firm water wells sought out,
With those above to quench.
All real and distorted,
They cast down the buckets.
What lies beneath are lies,
With no water pulled up.
Only a truth to see,
Masking the dirt below.
What such forces to cease,
Can they unstoppable?
Forces I feel around me.
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