It's half 7 in the morning
and the shadow of night
is still gripping desperately onto the earth
not yet willing to be replaced with the sun
Darkness floods my window
yet I am still sitting here, fully dressed for school
hair done and makeup finished
does this mean I am finally organized,
does this mean I am in control at last?
Or does this just mean that I am sick
of my brain picturing scenarios in my head
that make my eyes brim with tears
and would make men of stone weep?
I believe that I am not awake, not fully,
part of me clings to sleep, the part of me
that shies away from the stress of school, and life
and in all honesty, I would much rather
be dreaming.

And there comes a time when the boys will stop flipping gold
As though it were dimes, pennies or quarters
When the men would step in and ****** the gold away and say
"Son, thou shalt not play with such value as though it be worthless"
Then perhaps the gold may be saved, swiftly put in the pockets of men
In exchange of some quarters, pennies and dimes to some boys.

my bloed is rooi
en dit vloei
ek is heeltemaal ingetrek
ek het die maan gelek
en as ek sterrekyk
ek weet ek kan my droome beruik

my blood is red
and it flows
i am totally drawn in
i licked the moon
and as i stargaze
i know i can reach my dreams

The sadness isnt cruel
to survive, there's certain things to do
If only it would leave me
Because i only have room for you

I thought i was drowning
but the moon casts only beams
I thought i was drowning
then realised  it flooded out from me

You stood there, probably cold,
in the frozen foods aisle.
Actually, you had a peacoat on.
When I first saw you,
I only saw your back.
Your hair looked wiry and blonde,
I thought you were aged and frail.

When you turned around with a gallon of milk
your face surprised me.
I was swept up in awe and stared too long.
Your eyes-- blue, kind, and calming--
rested on pillows of roseate cheeks
that looked recently swept by winter winds of New England.

You looked at me, too, but with an austere expression.
I said, "I hope the tempest of your mind
soon finds peaceful resolution in tranquil waters,"
in my head.
She walked past me
her audible rhythmic steps
made with untied,
disheveled
boots.

A beatnik
simply keeping a beat.