Who are you?

Not an ally to the covenant
neither a foe that I shall draw arms with

Your looks, pale
your intentions undefined

not a lover for me to die for
neither a deceased relative to let me cry

Alas twas a man in the mirror
Twas a man who I thought
I wouldn't never be

Never been around someone so exciting
Where every moment felt just like lightning
That was also what was just as frightening
That two souls could potentially be uniting

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hill and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delated, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hiddden thorn;
Fills up the famer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.

There are sickly people in this mental ward,
their hearts ablaze and their bodies bruised
their fathers passed, ashtrays well worn

their hearts full of hope, their bodies blue
their mothers lovely, their skin still soft.
There are pretty people in this mental ward.

Treat your body like a temple put value in your soul,

Warning to the wealthy pride comes before the fall

The oath of kings are betrayals before
God with all desires bought and sold,

A taste of every fruit offered by the world, still left with an appetite for more

All expires but a heart of gold is admired by them all

To every man his word obey to follow no meer mortal to all be led astray.

I wish to age like a wrap-around porch
In a thunder storm,
While generations tell tales,
Sipping drinks.
A porch of blinking stars,
A shelter out of rain,
With ascending and descending friends.

I will age like a tree,
Grow stronger in the wind;
Give shade and shelter to all
Beneath my ring-aged limbs.

I wish to age as a river bends,
Contiguous with all shores;
Floating everyone I know
On eternal waters,
A current winding with no rest.

I will age like a star,
Burning bright, giving light,
Something to reach for.

I wish to age like a mountain,
With secret caves and riches.
And you can rock your soul
Around, over or through,
Solid, snow-capped summit,
Beckoning you.

I will age as the moon,
In stages, full and new;
Each night different,
Unnoticeable fading,
As all who age will do.