Me and my girl
We got a thing going on
We got some understanding
We got some love to give in
We got some lessons left for learning
We got the same things in common
So, the same feeling stays with her
As I love you in the morning
The breeze flows through her hair
Our strength, our history
Leaves me weak in the knees
I just want you near, here by my side
So, when are you coming back woman?
We had a thing going on

You are the reason
I tie myself to the past
And never make it past today

It's not the mind that stops me
It's the mind that propels me
And the heart that brings me stillness
In this love meant for crazy people

If you think the truth is nice
Then you might be exchanging too many
Pleasantries without even knowing it

Among the backs of disregarded
There lay some purposeful
However, the literature does not talk
About ambivalence as the students of Aristotle
Such people became conquerors
However, there was some time before the enlightenment reached
The inability to observe is left with others ready to watch

I wonder what're the riches doing
Are the benefited away from the mud
Keeping the poor hands off the clay
As the hard work suggests you can be moulded
By the very substance, you try to command
I suppose as a house you an occupation
Of giving us shelter from the storm
Wasting the worker's man in the toil and work
The workingman's dead and he keeps wanting more
Earning a couple of bucks, to hold a shack full of comforts
Of the simple life that provides
Without salvation
I think you'd dead
Come here before you get better with the days
Come here, she said I'll give you shelter from the storm

If the feeling of conquering
Rids you of the thirst
Then, try conquering the desert

Been jimmied by some
The entertainment of the criminals is
In the thrill of the steal, and that is being lonesome
Disillusioned, I'm highly strung by the wrong-doings
In the name of the trust, I accept everyone as my equals
I hope to write a letter that purges me of guilt
With that, I find that case in study is a reflection of the past.

When sadness lies in despair
There is so difference
Between weeping and depression
You are just smothered
By the wait
Waiting
Forlorn by the people that you stand up to
They respect and despise your guts
There's no telling when you'll come home from the other woman
Who refuses to let you go
Now the relation's toxic
Are you planning for a settled childhood
Summoned at will
Or a life among adults who do not know how to wait
For the right person in the life
The only thing that changes the people in your life
Are the ones you make justifications for
Too bad, that you've made the right choice
And you'll live with compromise
It's like a snake in the eagle's shadow
When it lets go
It dies

The soldiers run through battlefields
Cutting through fields of gold
Searching for flesh and bone
In this instance, ripped apart by pieces of lifestyle
The fighter's life is justified by his style of combat
The sounds of the battlecry render
The enemies motionless

A beautiful girl
In need of help
Came to the wrong place in town
Left with a pocket full of dreams
And a head full of doubt

I approached her with words made of roses
Beautiful to the touch, but, pale and lonely
Without its bush
Probably the thorns make the roses livelier

Vivaciously sculpted trees
Create verdure
That only few trespass into
But the night is getting older
Nothing we can hold about in our transient tips
In this jungle, there are watered tresses called brooks
Finding all of this are books and the paper
On the forests of yesterday's trips to the forest
Ruined by progress meant for the future
Paradise is lost in the edifice of time, and now barren
Somehow, the path I took in its profundity
Is the right one
But, hey thanks for stealing my poem's title

Plays are good acting
It's just the bridge
Where moonlight suffices

I probably love the truth
And the Truth is poetic
I propose that poetic lines be banned
Does that sound poetic

Conduits in a guarded hall
The millions of souls singing in unison
Of a similar silence of not fulfilling their vows
The music dances in the canopy of mosaic
Vicars garner sanguine spirits with a dance that sings
Old castles have inscriptions of the dead
And sagely spirits that haunt these very verses
Through these conduits run the blood of religion
Only the monks seem to be silent about it all

Loving music with honesty
I wish we loved people's honesty that earnestly
These white lies pile up into a skeleton in a closet
Calcified, and edified into the antonym of amnesty
Secrets can be boring without placing your soul on the line
However, this platonic love will tear you apart
Much like being stuck in this rectangular love
Leaping into faith up to a certain degree
After that, there is only madness and quandaries

Help!
Hold me
I am
A glass half empty
Trying to fall into a larger cup
Metaphorically speaking
I am the one looking for innocence
It'd be easier to be empty
Than to toss it all in poor judgment
Possessed by this desire
A fire rises, and I'm just a fly on the wall
An anthem of indoctrinated philosophy
Wondering where is the merit in being avenged
Hold me, before I slip across the edge
Into a glass half empty
Engulfed by saltation into my darkest dreams

In a world barred by
Lack of friendship and power of poetry
I ask myself, is this all just make-believe
How are we not smitten by each other?
Instead, we are discriminating each other
Detention centers made for people without power
Is this all just sheer bad luck for a passersby
I ask myself, is this all just make-believe
Pressed against the ***** clothes
Is a face, I'll never see it and it will never find a voice
In a world barred by
Lack of friendship and power of humanity
Our existence is befallen by its own arrogance
I ask myself, is this all just make-believe

No, there is too much agony

Brushstrokes pave the way for a convincing actor
In the most penniless circumstances
I cannot convince people to appreciate my art
It's absolution that brings me to the beginning
A feeling of apprehension of not believing that the world
Only convincing the actor in me to make the choice of dreaming
In this reality where I can live in an opulent dream
Still, I'd rather be stuck somewhere among partially awoke people
While I'm the only one knowing my role
And I must not tell this as I cannot convince people to appreciate my art
Which is simply a daydream

The glutinous substance
Splashes my skin
Dashing by my painless existence
The jesters and clowns make sarcastic remarks
On this canvas of Jackson *******
Looks like the acrylic broke on the acrid stains
It was a hot mess and the red beset with the randomness
A crazed mind, I was lost in the screaming of intellect
The critics defined the bane of my reality
I was splashing dashes of excellence beyond my time
Which felt like a crumpled paper of exploited emotions
Employing my craze in this painting of a thousand memories
It isn't realistic, but, it's probably me

This emptiness quiets my voice
On the brink of never speaking again

A simple thought
Can explain a complex emotion
But, silence explains everything
Except, the sunflowers

April is the cruelest month, with the stirring dull roots blossoming in spring rain
Lilac's still a month away, and the stems of the ebullient estivation of this end of season
But, this is Jefferson's victory over slaves, and the politics run in my sleep
Ruminating over the possibilities of dinner and sleep, I fall into a dream
I glance at the tea, feeling peckish
Poking my peevish gutter, my hunger pangs
A dull head among wintry specimens
I cough in their presence and sneeze
I an old man
Signs and signs are taken for words and words
When will the word be the sign in this world, I walked in the juvenescence
Quite jubilant were the citizens, as it was Cherry Blossom season
Never having witnessed the spectacular indication of festive fervor and the Hakagawa bows among Titans

You stay in my arms
The sobbing stops when
I lift your poor-faced countenance
You're called a ***** girl, and sometimes a leitmotif
Indeed you have been a theme in my life
The guitar cries, and I can hear it weeping
Chains and things don't beat the feeling
Prudence isn't that you can lift up my spirits
Make me feel good in your assiduous inventive
Finding ways to make me cry
The friendship that breaks, you help me
Become broken again
Thanks for being there
When I can't contact my route manager

Erudites have long wondered how civilization spread through
This oasis where you lie in your solitude
Going around the same old allegory
That you tread upon in some shadow
Books hide those shadowed thoughts
Luckily I can see through you
And the rain came again and washed away
The stars came upon me like a comet
For personal reasons, the photographs didn't exist
At least, not to my knowledge

I reason with myself
That's the problem
Lies in seldom myself
I hate to admit it
The coruscating fire rests there
I say it's probably changing the world
I reason with myself
That being a problem
Lies in my half-measures
Never completely admitting
It's probably changing the world

Chances are you forgot you have an ace
In your pocket, questionable thespians are weary, winsome women
In a poet's life, bringing him to temptation and avoiding coyness
Coarse behavior can be a form of attention and aptitude
But the coquettish reminded me of the inhibitions as an observer
An accosted girl left in a town also was a part of this terse reason
Edicts could have been written on her spontaneous knowledge
Buttressing this poor logic was her reasonable interest in my expression
Art, was a class apart when we sat together creating a dense-structured essay
Yearning for better proliferation in opulent desires, ideas were purloined
Carpe Diem became Carper Nocte
And the Illuminati Du Ponts were a sourced for respite
As her religion didn't interest me
Her faith in God brought me tears
I folded her legs and broke her spirit
Took her to a place where religion made me happy
The release was being with a long-lasting ******
The happiness was in the blood
Blackness hovered her face as she was gonna get it
The pressing of the abdomen didn't bring adolescence anymore
God what is time to those religious, but, reckless
In the everlasting love for enervated breath and emotion
Relentless, there were frescoes of superior litany veritably written

The ghost slurred
Without shape
Black ghosts do lie in the shade

Tinkering cups
Placed on a plate
The pills of sugar dissipate

Caramel cupcake
Made in salted ovens
For the black and sweet

When you look at Maria Kondo cleans your apartment
You wouldn't find mind it when she throws away
The Trump toaster in the kitchen

I have no more time to give
My cup has runneth dry
It's acrid and soapy

Too shy to ask
Is there a way to erase
Your confusion without looking into the past
Dying on the road never went by so fast

Wavelets left in vibrations of the sand
And the beach keeps the tranquility
Calmness washed over my face
As the water atomizes on the shore on the natural sands
Art wishes that it were as modern as that act of finding
New memories on a new land

Smells like teen agony, and the familiarness stays on scarred
Away from spirits being free
Living in destinies beyond your feet
Walking paths beyond comprehension
That is all might and a symbol of peace

It's scalding
Souped up in a hanging *** in some far off veranda
Overseeing the noisy place it was an experiment
Arriving at the ruckus, the stranger looked at me
Spit at the ground, dusk's dustiness rose
Petrichor in my pin-up poster of India never seemed this incredibly serene
Leveling the looks with mine, the chaotic nostalgia reminded
Mirages in the air spoke beyond illusions that were an object of rumination
Arriving at the same destination in my book store, the freedom was real
The era was good, but, the biryani seemed tasteless
The bibulous raucous youth all gathered for the food
Majorities didn't like a big difference to us
We were ill-represented in the World too, and other similar instances
We'll not find a more familiar land where we can progress
Rejecting accusations and present in the excess of this universe
Freedom seems like too much responsibility

The moonlit pavement is only a stage for two
The oaken sitting bench is meant for us from dusk
Here we remain bored, imperfectly expressed till dawn awakes us
Waiting, enchanted by an underestimation of how asleep we are
How a wasted wraith unnecessarily passing the time keeps me here
Wafting through air gently there is no pleasure in forgiving as you ask me to leave
The tumultuous storms shake emerald meads
From the island's high leads afraid of the warning sunrise
Leading to her bridge, this shore reminds me of a winsome girl
And this I cannot undo
The weight crushes me
Far from dearest friend tis' who
Reciprocates the awkwardness around you
This life, this love was all for a stage near a grey dell
Simply an act, simply a play on words
How we wait for stars upon another shore
Far from departed pleasures
Stuck in this feeling of acting spontaneously
From dusk to dawn
Dancing by the sea
Circling around the circling sands
With all faith in memory
Engraved deep beneath the wave
And we forget about today until tomorrow arrives

Woven into a blessing
The servant stitches the cotton
Picked by a child

The sorcerers' clouds
Whisper loveless quotes
On the parchment sky
Parched by drought and sorrows

Your words create vivid imagery
Making the prelude of a conscious mind
Pensive in doubt traveling a circular journey
But, the poem is just an autobiography
Of how I am so lonely
In front of my inner child

Trying to perceive the dissonance
I changed paths
Walked and treaded, went looking for the mendacious among the  
Well read, there lay somnambulant desires
Was time and space, I could not face the present summer months seem longer
The billowing nimbuses turned into the peach clouds meant to be there
Sadness washes over your face like acid and acrid Pink Floyd
The painkillers just wash down your sink with the medication
The window of torture in the soul's window
Call it watching the smokescreen with scion meant watching
The sunrise
The same reminiscent pain comes to haunt you again
They're watching and praying
I hope you find your wealth in good luck, but good wealth in bad luck
But, you can't be rich and pretend to not talk about it
Go ahead then let's talk about it

Before perfidy of rhyme wears out
Quit blaming your governments
Get them weary with a shout

Good clothes keep all doors opened
Odd clothes bring all doors to a close
No clothes are where you open at the close
Or vice versa

She's blending into the crowd, struck by the stars
The crowd washed away, beating the faded memory of him
Over my already broken doors and crumpled promises, made from the remnants
Of already fighting with you when we were bound for the feeling can't leave earth with
The memories aren't the same without you

The natural look that should be found in eyes
Comes from beautiful presences
Cumbersome, as it is the eyes are of the essence
The body is for rest and decision
You move and you are what you think
Either engrossed by moving or stuck in a lucid dream
Are you naturally connected by the feeling of what moves you to the core
Simple romanticism makes it rather difficult for us to understand how basic is this primal instinct
Is it really ancient or are wired as being who made up by some kind of pseudo-pixie dust
The body is vitiated by errors
I still look out for your features in other tendencies of pedantic behavior
I like my women like I like my thoughts
Calm and composed like the constellation of Cassiopeia

What are we if time cannot be measured other than by infinitesimally iridescent radiation be irrelevant?
As the people say we are bound just by the petulance of common life, and should not pursue higher ideals other than a plea for justice
Respect is earned by faithful people looking the dirt kicked in their face
It is better to be torturous to oneself than to seek logic for loving their flaws
Men judge more by the passage of hand by someone noble than impoverished farsightedness of a person with Dutch courage and Machiavellian results
You fall in a pretending game, and you find pretentious faces looking back at you
Wealth brings a drink, and drink if you must to lose yourself in poetry
For beatniks it became drugs, and the rashness brought them fame with a little spark of madness
I guess some of us are mad about the lunacy of this lacuna of neoteric tendencies
It could be art if you are obtuse enough to look beyond how modern politics has shaped the nature of stability
If you could be satisfied with the way you are going
Then, you might be on your way to the other end of the world
Where the political institutions are well-affirmed by their legislative decisions
While we look at hate has evolved, some of the proctors of hate of infecting our ideas beyond your comprehensive yet my colored knowledge of hatred is best shown in freedom in mindless
Yet, there is so much sadness on this planet in color
Paradise might as well be a dichotomy between photosensitivity
Like a motion picture where the title actually seems unctuous
With high octane, some poems do tend to get their questions well ordained
All of this is in my prior assessment

There are many questions in the little thing called
The consciousness and the state of madness
Which is shared with one and many
And these questions are solved by your present self
And the future and present seem to coupled into enervating instances
These are the premonitions of an old sailor
Who would be better in fiction, than a real Marauder
Such was the cry of the Ancient Mariner
Time only unravels, how much it mentions the need for apotropaic antipathy towards birds and people as such
Slightly touched and cursed by time
If you indulge in a cup of thoughtful tea
And the green color of the intoxication
By the death of a positive soul when, this imageless perception
Becomes beyond your grasp of imagination
Then the cold rain can even seem hot at the right time
With a system of channeling your fighting spirit
Cursing your opponents when they seem weak