Foggy morrows alluding to the rest of day,

a grand mystery of what will be,

enshrouded in mists mans mystery motivates,

it calls upon our curiosity to investigate

and pursue misty shadows lurking and lingering.


What new mysteries shall be in this new day?

What marvels may be obliged to see?

Ah, this fabulous foggy morrow holds such marvellous,
deeply seeded, and enshrouded in curiosity, mysteries.


Oh the Foggy Morrows such relevance to life

I see in you, despite the foggy nature of your being.  
Tho’ only temporary, your mystery shall reveal things

later becoming old, that is what you do,

Oh dearest Foggy morrows.

A fleet of wounded hearts,
mangled, beaten and broke,
wander helplessly through life,
not knowing who to trust,
or even where to go,
simply hurt, shattered and broken,
this sad little fleet of Wounded Hearts.

Wounded Hearts lay all around me,
slowly fading away, withering painfully.
Knowing not how to fix it,
they keep the wounds fresh and open.
Ne’er seeking to mend their,
sad little wounded hearts.

Fresh wounds made every day,
more upon the already existing.
How much can these wounded hearts
take? Bitter hearts tear the loving ones
to pieces and ne’er do they run away.
Yet, Stay and face the pain and hurt,
for whatever reason their hearts remain loyal
to that which hurts them,
hoping for relief.

Instead I beseech the fleet of wounded hearts,
“Follow Me, I will show you who can fix you.”
My Father, He lovingly made you a heart,
and people have destroyed them,
pray go to him, that he might mend them,
make them whole again,
it is his wish and desire to see you whole
once more,
and reduce the fleet of wounded hearts,
to none.

I’m mad,
I am mad,
I am not angry,
no, but I am mad,
so very, very mad,
meticulously so at times,
Just know that I am mad,
I am cuckoo, I am insane,
I am deprived of sanity,
I am mad,
wonderfully so,
for I am madly in love with you.

When my eyes befall the splendour of the land,
the softest touch of grey amongst the peridot grass,
timber browns stretch from left to right,
the amber touch of daylights beam,
the reflective wonder of the flowing stream.

Natures chorus and elegant noises,
harmonious beauty fill my ears,
beauteous avian warble,
the sensitive rivers trickle,
the beguiling Autumn leafs rustle,
the winds subtle whisper,
the orchestra is ready,
now it begins to play.

A beautifully fair day presents itself,
and I given just the chance
to gaze, hear, and feel the beauty,
might just indeed take it,
for this is natures Ode to life.

O' Youthful heart, why dost thou drift haplessly across the sky?
Can ye not be like the merry vessels and set your anchors in fair seas?
O' youthful heart, why dost thou bring pain to the lives of many?
If I gaze upon the lives of many, what do I see?
Pain, suffering,
slow and bitter,
weeping torment,
thousands of young peoples
hastily given hearts,
lay in ruin,
and all because the heart,
acted as a cloud.

One bush,
Dry save for one stem,
Dead save for one leaf,
Dull save of the one rose.

All others have expired,
All others have withered,
All others have wilted,
Just one now remains.

Few expected it to survive,
One last rose,
One perfect rose,
One lush ruby rose.

It is the final rose,
It is the beautiful rose,
It is the soul of the bush,
The Last Rose.

"More ropes! Swiftly now,
more ropes! With all that we hold
we must restrain it!" cries the mind.
Such a mighty roar,
tho' t'were a beast from hell,
yet so such beast was present.

"Ah, yes, No such liberty for thee,
restrained, confined to the labyrinth
of stock and stone for this lifetime."
whispered unto its enraged ears,
countless other taunts cast from figures
afar, but this youthful figure nearby,
taunts fresh into its ears.

What foul creature could be so horrid?
Surely a beast of such sheer evil nature,
death, destruction and villainy,
that doth terrorise the world so very much.

Listen! there's its thump and thud,
its horrendous screech,
the chorus of the deep.
Ay, tis not of kind appearance,
not to me in the slightest,
instead, throw flame and ember,
deep into its chambers,
and pray to the heavens,
that some miracle may be
bequeathed unto such a foe,
and looks of horror, and foul appearance,
might be converted to the sleek and slender
restraints of the minds will.

Ay, this is the heart,
a foul and horrid creature,
the bringer of pain, the bestower
of a smouldering soul.
Let it not loose,
lest it happens again.