Regular being's
Like to thinkest, outside the box;
I tend to thinkest
Outside of this dreadful world.

©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry

It was a willow tree once there
   At the land of lake and mist,
   It was standing lonely on the shore
   Waiting for a beautiful hand to touch
   Its shining leaves.
   It was a woman in green, wrapped in
   A scarf with autumn leaves,
   Her hair was with honey color
   Her eyes were magnetizing and dark,
   She came to the willow on twilight "
   Rainy clouds gathered with above
   With gray shadows,
   She weeps under the tree and talks to it
   “Oh, willow, where is my beloved…
    since years he went to the land of
    pineapples and sun,
    and then he never returned..
    I promised to wait him every night,
    And every day I light candles and pray.”
   The woman's tears fall from her beautiful eyes,
   They touched the ground of the tree
   And dropped on its leaves…
   “Don't cry, dear “ replied the willow,
    I'm here beside you, I hear and feel,
    I was also a maiden one day in life
    Waiting my beloved I came here to cry
    Near the lake and mist.
    Years passed by ,he never returned
    And my longing increased
    One day I just woke up and found
     My hands transformed into green leaves
     My body " to stem of a willow tree.
    God gave me peace , I'm still crying
    But I don’t wait for him.
    The woman in green was amazed
    She felt suddenly quite inside herself,
    She stood little with opened eyes
    Gazing the lake, then kissed the tree
    And turned away.
    The willow saw her smile, she never came
    Again to the mist and lake land,
    But her autumn leaves scarf is still there…

It's the same old story
In a different book.
Diverse covers
And altered bindings,
Mismatched fonts
And dissimilar ink,
Clashing papers
And opposing words,
But the same old story
In a different book.

I found a piece of myself today
Lodged in a baby stroller getting off the train
I didn't know it was there until I reached in to help
I did a poor job of it but still
The mother patted me on the shoulder
And said a foriegn word of thanks

I found a piece of myself today
I didn't know I'd lost

I have love in my eyes and flowers in my hair
But you're looking in all the wrong places.
So I guess I'll just cry and sing with my guitar,
Because I'm not in California
And you're thousands of miles away,
(Or at least you seem to be.)

I didn't know that I could feel this strongly about every breath another human being takes, or for that matter, who's lucky enough to breathe that same air.