Purse your lips,
I have a gift,
Open wide and savor sips,
A hurried propagation slips,
Through the gaps,
Between your hips

Describe the rhythm,
By your frown,
Moving face to face,
And down a path of absolution,
Keeping pace with dead-eyed dreams,
Forming tracks amongst contusions

Now it breathes a solemn sigh,
Merely an affront to cry,
Senselessly for all the world,
Out it shies, and "it's a girl",
Hide...

I just don't understand,
You gaze upon this fertile land and shrug,
As if to swat my hand!

I know you're feeling down,
What if we made you wear this crown to bed,
And watched you flounder like a clown!

The morning seems to call,
For ways to break your sawtooth walls,
But you'd rather build them up again,
So watch your step, you just might fall!

Beaming red and in a daze,
You seize upon what little praise,
Could crawl from such a crooked state of mind,
You dragged us all to the ground,
When trying to emerge from this haze!

Sing your tune for us tonight,
Fill the halls with awe and spite,
As you fumble all the way through this *****!

"Fiddle-dee-dum,
Riddle-me-***,
And cloud out the insufferable hum,
With dancing, prancing, loads of ***,
Perhaps it's time that I recite!"

Flick the brush,
From here to there,
Pointing species,
Dull and rare,
To hideaways and rivers' gush,
Gentle, true,
But what a rush!

Power trips the finger's pace,
Across the ever-looming face,
Of cosmic panoramas new,
Or oceans deep and verdant blue,
"To think I've found my niche",
I call amongst the stars, so very few

Strike the hammer to the world,
Imagination comes unfurled,
In pulsing rhythms, they now hurl,
At me the bulk of Heaven's churl,
"You've wasted seven days",
They chant,
"Though now it's time to paint a swirl!"

With blue, green and white, I ******
Towards a dream with little lust,
But quickly my mistake is found,
And lost throughout the artful sound,
Of clashing blades and bitter crowns

I fake a breath to earn the death,
I've sealed within this crass display,
Pressing precious feet to flames and leading men to disarray,
I fooled my hands to guide the way,
But now I simply kneel and pray,
To sculpt this world for one more day...

Here and there,
But gone so soon,
Leaving footprints in the dunes

Your ship is cast to waves astray,
Vibrant lights in full array,
As plumes of dust connect with rust,
To cleanse the tide of runaways

What is that sound which clings to air,
Where none withstand the winter's bare,
But wolves, ticks and mounds of bricks,
Though softly playing, unaware it breathes,
New excerpts from the wind...

Wondrous to see your face,
Help yourself to our good grace,
Grab a stout,
Or stroll about,
And shove an anthem down your spout,
Consider it an English tout,
Of tidings' nigh and endless chase!

Command the armies from your mind,
Halt their fevers to a grind,
And spray the burroughs far and wide,
With what's green to human eyes,
Blind a ***** with witty stamps,
Bruise a lout with hardened clamps,
To numb the void of armored stance,
You brave a smirk; your saving dance

Closer now, the introspection,
Daunting brows to blue complexion,
Relive a day within a year,
Calm yourself, there's none to fear,
But all the ways you could have neared,
The end

You see the ear, but miss the eye,
Compute the ****** I'd need to fly,
To meet a grave so well-endowed,
As yours, you claim, would make us proud,
To glean the odd and shake the bones,
Of "Satan's spawn or Casey Jones"

Yet now it seems you'd sake a jewel,
To venture on to Heaven's rule,
If not for you to die the hero,
Then for I to die the fool...

Count the hours on the clock,
Shifting hands to softly mock,
The nagging tick of mortal flocks,
Atop this fetid, burdened rock

Arranged in dandy rows of twelve,
Nestled firm above the shelves,
They strum a tune for silent crowds,
To dust and grime and hellish clouds

Waiting for its muse to strike,
As if a match or flame alike,
It leaps from hours seeking rhythm,
To seize upon a growing schism

Ringing out, it quells the chime,
Weeping children stand in line,
Dead men all accused of crimes,
Against the grueling pace,
Of time

"These bleeding hands, tis' all you thought,
For now you see,
It's all a sign..."

Closing rifts in hatred can **** a monarchy,
But morale grows to **** it anyhow, you see...

A year can pass like light through glass,
But still you’ll never see...

Fighting scrapes,
Ignoring scars,
Can only make debris,
Of what will never be…

Listen close,
To how they speak,
Of listless killing sprees,
Or whisper to the trees and croon,
Their sacrilegious plea…

Still you haunt these rigid spores,
Of flowered enemies,
But dawn’s wreath may only cometh,
When your heart concedes,
To crooked tales and bloodied gales,
Of life amongst the free…

O, Dear Soletta, have I failed you,
The King is dead,
Now, let us **** the Queen...