Slapped and rapped on the table
The wrappers of the toffees
Looked like gifts next to the rich tea party

To see us in time
And space
There is some kindness in the stars
I just count my blessings

I see no amusement
In having your pride
You changed my way of life

The moles in the compound
Correspond to the number of
Particles, that counts as composition
The voles come out of the center
Digging tunnels for their escape
Particulars, that counts as composition
Of a couple of tied tenebrous lackeys in prison

The swarming bullet ant
Learned the subtle of not giving a ****
But, they sting like bees, and can't fly
Like freaking grammar nazis

The love with which I brought you up
Was held in the book of frozen thoughts
Like a cryogenically stored impasse of repressed emotions
Where's the sexuality in this tensed state of mind?
In which we attribute, the city lights to the life of the bright enlightened plight
Maybe, our plea is just reimbursement waiting to repaid by our future generations
Wondering how it got so rough, and yet so droll
The candid nature of *** is psychology
In this surmise, I rest my repleting father figure
Complexes are how we move onto our next offspring
Where there is recessiveness, there is dormancy

The learned raced through the crowd
Apparently, with no knowledge of their whereabouts
"Eureka", they shouted with naked conviction

The simple surface of the billowing smoke
Makes my thoughts seem cloudy
But, deep down I'm very clear on my inhibitions

Re-turned and no way
To return to the home
Another day
Of desolate rowing
In someplace, I like to call my own

We are reassured by finding a soul
That will understand us
In our innate silence
That's God taking us for a fool
When, you can't speak
You're either stillborn
Or you should speak when spoken to
Although, medically pronounced dead
We are untouchable according to our bodies
So, where's our soul?
In the land of science, where a simple miracle has been given a convenient definition
Without observation, do these church-goers take us fools
Without dedication, this systemic religion has got us by the mass hysteria of reality
Religion is probably levity
If you haven't given up enough for talent
If you have given up enough for more opportunities
Then, you may have all your pies lying on the diamond sky
Counting stars, and pre-existent factors have a couple of things in common
They are uncountable like the riches of the deified land
You're born on this earth, to die for your country
But, that is just a mammon of emotional appeal
Wrought pathos and alacrity

Poetry is a simple litany
It just requires a couple of words
That need ample explanation through literary verse
Why you need a stone to bring back the dead
And a rock to keep you steady
When your death is written in a cleaner slate

The truth set in stone
Unhinged souls
Of a metal brother, often subject to sacrifice
I guess you believe in fate
But, some scientists in us look for the way of the physical world
Balancing on logical statements

****** madness
Engendering doubt
Mellifluously kept me within these walls of belief
Too bad, religion was old
And the girl was young
The memory was transience

Among bowing people
Some have their heads down
In the silent transience
Of tunneled sound
From the listeners, the caprice comes out
From Hakagawa bows to cognizant thinking
There's more to life than what meets the eye
There's more to life that's buried under the soil
Free from eternal toil
The ghost is a part of planetary motion
Some of our ancestors' were peckish for the universally jejune
Apparently, they went so far as to leave civilization to understand their place on earth
The human race is like a band running out of inspiration

The errors of your ways
Are well improved
When you work on it
We love our friends
Make them realize
Then, work some more

The hen laid out the egg
The egg laid out the law
For the structure of atonement

Unwrapped box of food
Lay on the stable
Laid out carpet for your writing

The fallen circumstances
Chuisang was just a word
That I found out of circumspect learning
Of the Chinese language
Then, I called it love

There is no heart
You just
Transcend your beliefs

Lights out at 7:09
At the right time
I come to you in many rhymes
Depends on how you look at your wine
As it's aged into
Skip into morning 7:09
The repose of yesterday's intoxication
Is in the form of a knife
And within those 12 hours, my doors were latched tight
My covers weren't warm, they were alright
The shoved cloth, that arrested the hands that were already tied
I died of medical causes, or maybe, I became blind
I'm haunted by the very thing that helps me sleep at night

The light will still be with you
When you read into the rustling reeds
The darkness of the ocean will drown out the reflection
There are plenty of fish in the sea

The ember of time
Lights like a fire
In the embracing of a concept
That took a nightcap
And the candid, are really sure of the phone call
That lit up the thirst for knowledge
Of redundant problems that require further realization
It's feeling, no modus operandi, no feeling of veritable nature
In this compromising mother of nature
Since the wide eyes fallaciously wake
And the indolent breezes that wash over me like sirens
The loudness of the morning sun wakes me up
Like the smiling Sun prays for the unnurtured
From the dark, you can see the light
If you dig further into your force of nature

Feeling the pieces
Ferrying the mandate
Across the races
In the splintered waters
Of the glacier-like iceberg
We just hit the tip of the frozen brook
And we screen so low
To reach new heights of ruin
The antecedent of this being, inherent good

Wishes based on race
By the segregation that divides
Is like a half-life, that cuts like a fish in the sea
Pieces of man, cut into flesh and bone
The sins for which the white man has to atone for
Is in the brown-eyed soul of a disillusioned handsome man
Biased on blues, radiating the whites of their eyes
The skin so pale
The flagging it with any banner
Would make a political motto
Seem like a motto for gender fluidity
If you believe in yourself
Be a part of what you are, instead of being sexually minute
Your own stronghold on words is bullish rhetoric
And when we almost died inside
We marked our territory by identification of face
Our existence simply a consequence of racial profiling
What matters is that we bleed our own music?
That's called freedom of thought in this century of post-modernism

The westlands symphonic
With torrid arguments that wasted away
That felt different indeed

The pact kept me
In the de facto love
In the de jure soul
In an inured state of penury

Take me to this river
Of dreams
In which I seem to love diving into without knowledge
Without the depth
And the age of the river
It isn't worth swimming
Take me to this river
The sixteen hours that pass by in the day
Seem like the nights are longer
In this moment in time
If the thighs linger on the shores of a dock of the bay
The carefree youth of air touching your face
The hair leaving your slandered mind
Scalded by the hot water
By, the very river that keeps you in my mind
Keeping a couple of purgatory's memories
Sitting on a portal full of doubt
The love is in this water body
The meandering brook perspicuously describes my life
Away from the clear waters
Take me away from the river
The reflection is palpable
The satin is reflected in the breathable satin dress

Stones and starstruck bones
Faltered by the winding clock
And the single thing I remember
My love for the untouched pages
Couple of snowflakes
Walk in a crowd
It's impossible to find the odd one out

This I know about transience
It is the abiding
Of the unsurpassed law of self-improvement

The human nature doesn't deceive
In some emotions
I found your instinct match my life
It was the smell of the battlecry
In a town of full agrarian economists
Who realized the buckwheat was the staple
Of this life of lateral paradigms
Being single, it feels like I'm a single market economy
Constraints in my ****** positions
Might be uneconomical for our desire for leisure
We sit and stare
Not knowing what Renaissance statues atop of Vatican structures hold
From the boughs of humanity and sounds of silence
Rising from the troughs of the highs and lows
Comes a sepulchral cry
Of a passion that might die

Tiger burning bright
In the forests of the night
The years of immortality
Didn't help our mentality
But, we looked for hunger in the unforgiving
Like jungles, we were populated by the very things we could bite
As we unleash wilderness on each other
We follow the other end of the circle of life

The ****** footprints
Of the myopic
Make for the best clues of your vivacious poetry

The silence resounds in the constant
Typing of meaning
In my meaningless existence
Apparently, madness is all I have
And sobriety is some path to reference
And that righteous thinking, and the working-class men
I represented by the exchange of roles
And the existence doesn't look the same
When you're tired
Apparently, we were both tired of the problems
That one of us underwent a sad demise
In the case of your rumination, I make some compromise

The silence resounds in the constant
Typing of your name
In my heart, that is shaped into a typewriter

You explained empathy
In the thoughts of literature
Or sympathy, though I don't need it
I'm ******* getting carried away
So, you can carry that weight?

The freeloading leader
Kept his ticket
For the ferry of freedom

If you woke up
Like this
You have the capacity to stay awake

With a sudden breath
The sands of time came and went
And with a couple of footprints, we imprinted the vehement sands

Hidden by the light
Showered by the talk of sunrise
Your pages welded with mine
In this book of utopia
And ideologies inscribed in the natural order
In the new order of the natural world
The rebels of the false positives, do not understand doves fly on wings of imagination
Like imago unhindered, really
Then maybe you're blind
And you need a pill that you can't take
Or is it a seed of doubt in your own reality
The years have been absorbed into you, and your fight's over
And revelations are at an end
But, you've learned than you haven't from anything
Out of thinness, there comes some inference
Of the thoughtful thinking, you do for my sake
And I'm disillusioned by my body reliant on a couple of images
Perceptive in nature
Judged by a scion
Above the dove of my imagination
How is that possible?
Be shapeless, my friend
Be shapeless like the water that reflects
Look at the moon and stars
Concentration is emotional content
Is something worth rhyming within this concept of emotion
Can we be boring again?

Feline lips
Tightened
Midnight living
Is or the uneasy awakening
Of the people affected
By corrupt intentions of purloining
Infected by the greed
Love is all you take in the beginning
The bitter high ground
Is like the pale blue sky
The reconciles with the perilous existence
Too bad, if this doesn't help
You should look at the grey clouds made of silver linings playbooks
Like new book readers
And newbies
I sip my coffee, bitter and sweet
Enumerable by the waves of sickness
That hit me in the perishing lands
By the sandy dustiness of places that are beyond
My time and the possessions, and the thesaurus
I keep in my bag reminds me of the words
You were, in my circumlocutory motioning
To the suns behind the thousand splendid times
In a land without mirages and mines, my legs feel like landmines
I can't walk on them anymore
On anymore
On the road
Far away from home, there is a system of the drowning sun
Antediluvian sun, don't come back from this rising sultry skeptical land full of light
Too me mirages are just objects that appear closer than they are
And dreams are made of these
I believe
If I believe in me
Then, I'm one with this homeliness
Then the feeling of being pecunious about my own nomadic tendencies
I probably roam in the bare wilderness
Tended to by psychedelic instances of the bitterness of a hundred blows
A hundred blows represent a hundred battles
Dealt with, in the dancing moonlight
The night sky covered senescence of a field that had seen a thousand suns
Hidden by light
Identifiable with the dark
Afraid of time and beyond

At the beggar's banquet
There are two kinds of worker bees
One in the blows of the breathless insects
With pollen for keeping, and the food they cannot respect
But, the honey lingers like the sweet
The lingering smell
Of the dew
Of a thousand years kept in a hidden hive
Imaginatively, the prey to the work was just canonical
And I worked really hard for my canines
And the square of that lines up with the 6 sides of a cell
Of nine lives
Like a cat curious enough to shake the hornet's nest, three times

The clusterfuck of thoughts
And the stars of confusion
It's all make-believe, isn't it

Jumping to conclusions
Leads to more
Thoughts in your deductions
Better follow the logical pattern of reasoning
Rather than questioning your own misguided beliefs

The sullied summer
The toil
Bring the ringing dead doorbell
Of bleeding angels like Lucifer
In Paradise Lost
Reigning in Hell, and lost in purgatory
Watching nowhere, however, down on me
Looking down on me, I mean
I mean, you ever have that feeling that you are walking in discomfit
That the perfect word that comes to you is in someone else's welcoming words
That's why we abuse like intellectuals, deprived of any wishful thinking

A world without words
A dream without focus
I might change my mind
If I wanted the problems of maintaining my sane sister
Called a metaphorical music
That keeps my muse on my mind
And my mind on my muse

Are thoughts your own exchange
I can tell
Maybe, you have surrendered to
Night terrors, and panic attacks
In the dark, as the room lies on uncertain
Displeasure seeks pleasure
And remorse comes in absentia
In the feeling of sensory deprivation
I find mental depravity, I do not find reprieve
In the deprived dream, I am walking without any ground under my feet
The thought of your love keeps me afloat

Feelings are sweet
Like tea and coffee
Often, the conversation is candid
But, thought of you thinking about me
Is really sweet
Is this fact, or acrimony
I love you as you do
As you like it
Is the thought of you interrupting my voracious reading
I find fiction fascinating when the thesis is real
Of lustrous lubrication of the primal instinct
That's why I think conversation flows
If you talk to people
And I'm among those people
In me, there's a crowd lurking beyond a social discomfort

Are you the kind of person who loves romantic poetry?
Are you the kind of person who loves recessing parts of rhythmic *******?
I wondered when your question would come in the form of poetic thinking if the feeling felt off
Did the left-wing ascend your very soul, or were you intermittently aware of your mind's pleasure?
The same hand that jerks around that thought of progression?
Is this just a consideration, or I am willing to say love is timeless?
Are thoughts without ideals, or are we free from our own inhibitions?
Did the second line shock you, or we expect to question from the thoughtful viewing?
That descended into ****** thinking around some form of critical reasoning?
Then, you aren't like me

The thoughts are provoking
Your necessitous thoughts that you collect
In your professing of love
And the kindness shared in the petals of the rose of the beauty so eloquently
The impulse, thoughtfulness and pressing matters of *******
They rivet in the circumstance of the talk of life
You make the population with your coitus
The flower of your love in the spiritual innocence
There is no old time sake, I mean the drink
The risqueness by which you hold those flowers
Makes if I want the same symbolism in my rich life
And if I thought about the past, it would be thrown like a sculptor's hand
Sullied by the system of marrying two concepts
The rose and the somnambulant feeling of your love
Keeps my love awake without the water
I'm sleepwalking into your trustful hands
The kiss would wait for a time
Sealed by a rose
Unwatered, wilting

You shuffle through the streets unnoticed
Sincerely yours
I have to keep your thoughts in my pocket
Shuffling through a pocket full of things in the process of unpredictability
I mess up my numb fingers cut up by the struggle of possessions
These things need my immediate memory