To you who dwell in the story of a book,
who longs for air in a quiet nook

To you who wander for a time alone,
who would rather stay at home

To you who seek a friend in your own,
who quite easily gets caught in a zone

To you who love solitude
with every fiber of your being

Forget the rest of the world
hustling and bustling

*Silence is not an echo of weakness
but your soul speaking in its greatest presence

A poet is omnipresent
Travelling where none has before
Everyone has a secret destination
Loved more than any
So many roads travelled
Yet the poet’s soul is not weary
So many reminisces from ancient times
Poet’s soul is older than time can perceive
Taking notes from the chronicles of universe
Poet is testimony to many anecdotes
Traveling through the length and breadth
Touching lives of multitudes
Poet shall live within the poetry
Conveying the mystical and universe’s secret
A poet is omnipresent
Poetry shall encompass all of existence

Decency is very  immaculate.
Yet these women lack it.
Showing so much skin that the men can probably taste it.
These men  insinuate women into *** objects.
But pushing them
to become a despised icon.
Now a days reputation seems to be the stereo type.
Males are pigs waiting to be slaughtered.
Girls will rant consistently about how they use and manipulate them.
Yet you live up to being a back porch baby,
as well show off those curves anonymously for lustful eyes.
False alarms wont save them. Cause they burn their own bridges.
Yet others wear  their pride
and keep what most are not aware of, which is class.
Women who stay loyal to the core and Share their soul with nothing but a Heart full of
ravishing intentions are indeed very rare.
Beauty that would petrify you were you are standing.
A delightful dream
that you're scared you will wake up and suffer society's standards of a female.
The lesson of this is nice guys finish last.
My amazing charm and mentality of a gentlemen is ignorantly ignored.
Nothing but remorse can be felt with this situation with them.
Sorry that they will never feel the vibrations
of the overrated word named "love".
Things that would make Hester Prynne disgusted.
But in all words,
my sail with no compass will not be over.
The storms might get heavy periodically, but then the waves will sail properly in my favor.
My search will be fulfilled
So on this long sail I'll never acknowledge these indescent
sirens.
So when they pass  "X" will mark the spot.

The spirochetes of the ages embellish themselves in a mystical quartet, as our respirations reverberate across sanctimonious plateaus of Oedipus and Electra complexes.
Your celestial convictions are tasteful as they wistfully meander through the fuselage of hydrangea bushes and ***** foxgloves.
I can feel the beat of your apprehensive pulse.
As we applaud the demise of this psychological stage-show, where connected separations unravel their shameful mysteries into a vortex of deluded academia; it is evident when someone communicates deep convictions across pulsating swamps of cosmological hemispheres.
So, as we merge into this cataclysmic vortex of enshrinement, let us embrace the past understanding of future ambivalence where the beginning can only be understood within the context of the end.