Expectations unmet,
create a nasty shock,
aim slightly lower.

Men have been great,
from birth till death,
from Jesus to Napoleon,
Men have been great.

But what is it that makes men 'Great'?
Is it compassion and heart?
Passion and intensity?
Ferocity and battles?
humility and wisdom?
It depends on who you ask.

Fame perhaps, makes these men great,
thats something they all have in common.
A positive reputation in the eyes of someone,
be it a follower, a supporter, a believer.

What is 'greatness'?
such a good question.
What makes men 'great'?
Another good question.
The time has come
to ponder on this final question,

"Can I too be great?"

A flame of Holy ordination
and ignition, shall not soon
burn out and falter.
This flame though a wick it
surely hath, will not expire,
tho' should you cover it
all its bright light shall fade,
let this light beam boldly
into shadows and all shall
tremble and fear.
This flame of Holy ordination
lit with the softest touch,
grows brighter and fiercer,
tho' not in anger or hate,
but passion, and should
this flame lose that bright passion
then I surely would weep, and
prostrate myself in search of
re-ignition, for this flame is better
for five minutes than darkness eternity
in darkness,
I earnestly seek this flame.

Oh this feeling, the way you make me feel
is naught but solid and true. Ever present,
and always makes me feel slightly delusional,
it sometimes falters, but is widely consistent.

Theres a shift in the weather, a difference in the air,
its something of a sweeter aroma, delightful to the senses.
Its calming, giving rise to these joyful fantasies, but they are
sometimes taken to far, so I keep them penned up behind fences.

There are adjectives plenty to describe you,
and many qualities can be ascribed to your name.
For your heart is golden, your words wise, your view
on life is positive and difficult to thoroughly maintain.

Your profound adoration for puppy, child, and rose
Is much to blame for my insane admiration of you.
Theres something about your personality that grows
increasingly in such favour of something within you thats true.

Ay, yes, Its true, theres something wonderful about you,
It sees me through the deepest swells when I am blue.
I could sit in your presence and be grieved by sorrowful news,
and still you'd bring me comfort, and remedy my bout of the blues.

Why do you hide away what beauty you possess,
don't flaunt it true, but please don't sequester it.
Make proud your heart in your beauty, as it pleases
the eye, and makes glad the soul who cherishes it.

I find myself laid low to the ground,
when your hand lowered extends out toward me.
I find myself happy and in the presence of love found
and in my arms, is the person who sees me free.

There is something in me that wants me to scream
nothing of pain and agony, but in joy and profound happiness.
For there is something in my life that whilst it may seem
temporary, is the permanent source of so much joyfulness.

Such a rare sight,
In the dead of the night,
When all is resting and nesting,
pushing past all the testing,
is the one delicate flower,
not a plant revolved around power,
but more faithful strength,
embracing the renewing love
of its father.
This flower,
the rarest sight,
gave off one thing,
one small thing,
that meant the entirety of the world,
one
single
tear,
for it was made alive,
healed,
restored,
by the fathers caring,
tender love.

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.

O’er the hill the rampant stampede
and the sound of thundering hooves,
as the mighty men of steel and armour,
hasten their steeds with all passion and eagerness,
to have at the fray in which their fellows are in
deadlock with the enemy.

Following the noble banner as it
twists and bends under the speed
of the horsemen’s noble steeds.
as edging ever nearer to the battlefield.

Then, with a shout of ardent Patriotism,
and the silent but deadly ring of cold steel,
the beating hooves trample,
as the swift sleek movements of the sword
befell the helpless enemy troopers and drones,
sent like sheep into a slaughterhouse,
and hence few shall return unscathed,
for these generals havent the decency for  
diplomacy and discussion,
only to make ****** war.

And should they have cause to panic or fear,
they shall hastily mutter such words as these,
“Send in the cavalry!”,
and with little argument, we shall go,
over the hill in a stampede of
death and glory,
like the Valkyries,
we shall ride,
and hasten the deaths of they,
my generals enemies.

I am their last resort,
I am the cavalry.

Chug along old friend,
someday you'll see the end,
days of rest on the quay,
maybe not as active as you'll be,
slowly now,
in you go.

One final bell,
one last whistle,
men salute,
the name is taken down,
now...
all you are is a relic...
a memory of past strength,
now a museum.


You had your day,
you won them long ago,
you took a lot,
you have a big bite,
now come,
into the quiet rest of harbour.
Time to go to sleep,
sleep now you old, old,
battleship.

“Catch me if you can!
I’m over here,
perplexed?
I’m really over here,
Oh wait,
I’m really quite near,
Ha ha ha, Foolish man!”

“Slay This madness!
You are what I say!
Stop, stop, stop, stop!
I am honest to the ‘T’ “

“Oh come now,
there is plenty to go around,
please come drink my milk,
and see which of you has it best,
bicker and argue children,
like vile beasts fight and quibble”

“I have it better,
it tastes exquisite”

“Nay, Mine is better yet,
a milk of sensational delight”

“Both are wrong,
Mine sings sweet melodies,
and dances on the taste buds”

“Alas these men are fools,
knowing not that they have indeed
the very same milk,
yet pride draws them to fight,
and lose all sense of GOOD
Reason.”

“Oi, I’m over here,
and You there,
come here too,
meet me here you two men,
now, you’ve found me,
here in the middle,
not far to opposite,
where blindness reigns.
I am here,
in the middle,
I am truth.
And if you tried,
by yourself,
you couldn’t
Catch me if you can.”

Beneath such grim lit skies, the migrating clouds,

o’er the autumn forest, leaves dancing to the ground.

The grey path, cracked and torn, leaves smothering its face,

red, brown, and yellow, blending together so nicely that it creates an

artwork in itself. Dark grasses litter the pathways flanks,

coursing like a cement river.

Remnants of recent rain caught in the midst of short blades,

catch upon the rough toes and soles of aged leather shoes.

The wind penetrating his tattered jacket, a bag slung over his

shoulder, it being somewhat used and expiring.

His feet neither cheerfully nor sorrowfully scraping the ground.

His eyes catching little of the days light, but the lack of light did not hide

his tears, his lonely life, he wanders the paths of the nations,

walks down the roads into the horizon,

into the sunset and away from the dawn,

he only ever wandered, he led a simple life,

he was not homeless,

but instead quite rich,

he did not like the suits, the jewellery, the houses, and

banquets, the business, he hated them all, the meetings,

the lifestyle, the expectations, he wished them all away to wander

the great expanse the great wilderness of earth, tame and un-tame.

He hated company, he hated humanity,

he hated nature, he hated war, but hated peace, he

hated work but hated laziness,

he loved to be alone in all that he hated.

He loved to wander alone.

When I on our wedding day,
promise and commit myself to you,
I shall say the heartfelt vow,
a worded description of how I shall live
with you, around you and in love with you,
a vow, it won't be flashy,
or excessive,
but heartfelt and a promise,
and then we can pinky-promise,
then touch thumbs,
like we did when we were younger,
"I love you My darling,
I vow to thee my life,
my strength,
My love,
My passion,
my heart,
all that I do,
shall reflect my love of two,
My father God in heaven,
And then my sweetheart,
that is you!
In every season!"
That is my vow to you my darling,
for I love you.

I have no noble name,
no objects of great worth,
nor a penny to my name,
I have not the looks of a prince,
or equivalent charm,
no land, nor investments,
by all accounts of the world,
I am nothing,
yet by the standard of the Lord,
I have wealth of wisdom,
love, passion, trust, integrity….
or so I have been told,
my loyalty is unwavering,
my resolve immovable,
where there is evil,
my heart remains steadfast,
and it shall break upon me
as water does upon a rock.
You wonder as to why,
why you should trust me,
have I led you astray,
have I given such a false
impression that I might have
led you to believe that
confidence and respect is not
something I value,
for I can greatly assure you,
I do care greatly for it.

Tho’ by the standards of the world
I am but a broke, and lowly man,
to the other aspects of the world
I am surely rich,
I have no proof,
I have no support for these claims,
does my argument falter?
Nay, my heart is as much apart of these
words as my mind is for creating them,
I produce this testament in support
of my character, My heart,
my very being,
pray that you trust me,
for this is something I value.

A place where the rivers gentle flow
transforms into the monsters mighty roar
bombards the waterbed below.
Giving rise to the gentle mist,
which masks the brutal churning of the
rivers clear and gushing water.
The waters edge around the nigh but brutal fall,
ripples and trembles,
splashing drops upon the rocks.
Yet, with what malice it may seem,
the water falling,
falls not without elegance and grace.
One glorious summers day,
I did sit upon a nearby stone,
and saw the morning sunlight pierce it.
That morning light, crossed with waters mist,
revealed to me the rainbow of seven.
The seven colours seen,
in the nearby wildflowers,
amidst the nearby trees.
I spend so many idle hours,
sitting by that water pool,
admiring the rainbows,
and the deep churning roar.

Sing me a song, o’ muse Calliope,
that in the summer solstice music
does release, wave upon wave of glory,
joy, and harmony, that with smooth lyric
this uneven heart might embrace
the golden summers dawn, that kisses
the newborn day, and nothing shall deface
this my radiant summers bloom.

Through the night,
rode the poorest knight,
o’er vale, o’er innocent glade
with thundering and beating heart,
that matched the quickened pace,
of the steeds nimble stride.

Tho’ the stormy gale opposes,
and the might of winters snowy,
blizzard, should keep him at bay,
he rises to the challenge
and crushes them ‘neath his heels,

When at times the spirit is low,
and normally a liquor does restore,
he hastens past the tavern,
to where his mount does drink and eat,
and makes fast the saddle,
in order to make advances on his merry
quest.

When the day he has been riding
for presents itself with fate and circumstance,
at its left and right,
and this poorest knight, tho’ stout of heart,
and a little bit stout of figure,
might be bequeathed with one
small gaze at Her.

He had ridden many miles in many days,
for what purpose he had no knowledge,
although, now that fate has blessed him
with the cause of his lengthy travels, and quest,
he might smile, and become the richest knight,
that other might envy, and wonder at,
indeed this is what did happen.

the village, town, and city,
all were amazed that this poor
nobleman did acquire someone
such as her, whose looks were
stunning at the least, and were
nigh short of some divine providence,
and making.
That when he rode through town,
with her arms wrapped around him,
the down did gawp, and wonder how,
that he did prove them wrong, and
hadn’t a care for their rude gawping
faces.

He and She,
carried on unto the sunset,
whereupon not a soul saw them
again, nor needed to,
they knew where to find them,
they were happy, and needed not to
be bothered by the troubled
villagers, and issues.

The poor knight,
is now living as a king,
though not wealthy of riches,
or prominence, or land,
but of the true happiness,
only love can bring.

The lovers passionate tryst,
occurred beneath the moons feint reign,
by the reflective ripples of the river,
'neath the shivering oaks leafy canopy,
'ere the land is simple,
'ere the lovers meet.

One such fair maiden
from the highest house of noble,
married to the tyrant,
the slovenly old fool,
Youthful betrothal from a fathers greed.

One noble peasant,
poor, and rugged in appearance,
from the fishers family,
madly in love with the maiden
he abstains from all others
just for her and all his affections
are for her, only her.

So in secret these two meet,
night after night,
where the law has no reign,
where the land is free,
much like their love
in this the lover sacred
secret place.

The poet wanted no money,
nor the overwhelming land
nor property, but the wealth
of the heart, and of the soul,
and so he commenced his
quest, to search himself,
of words, feelings, thoughts,
so that he might enrich
his very life, and live
once more as a content poet,
tho' to the world it leaves little to be desired,
but to he, it proved the most valuable thing
he could want.

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.

Come hither dear child,
and bequeath upon me
the declaration of your love.
A love which you hath in days
gone by professed before my
scandalous fellows, those
who would conspire even now
to make me dead and seal my fate.
Profess to love me yet again,
lest my masked enemies shall ****
me in the quiet of the night!

Profess to love me once more,
you my daughter whom I dearly
love, above all else this world may
give unto me. On this my deathbed,
profess to love me, before it shall fall
on the ears of the dead and have no
great effect on this my aged heart.
Prithee, let the last words I shall hear be;
'I love you!'

This is for she who is Love-ly,
the one who each passing day,
displays a fierce passion for me,
the one who is absolutely, Love-ly.

The way she speaks, exuding grace,
the way she moves, proving elegance,
The way she thinks, re-affirming wisdom,
the way she cares, lifting hearts.

She is Love-ly,
she makes me feel above all, Happy.
If she were to say, 'you're great!'
for no reason at all,
I'd feel a warmth behind the words,
simply because they come from her,
and she. is. Love-ly.

Such a Love-ly woman,
in possession of such a rare
collection of qualities,
one cannot help but see, and say,
She Is Love-Ly.

I call you beautiful,
not because of fact or hopeful lies,
but because its who you are.
I say to you I love you, I mean it.
I don’t say you’re my favourite,
because you’re not comparable,
I listen to you in the morrows,
and try to take away your sorrows,
I watch carefully your eyes,
to see if I can comfort your cries.
You see, here’s one important fact,
it’s true and I try and not let slack,
You are beautiful, simple as that,
its not just appearance,
it not just a consequence,
its your name,
Beautiful.

Beautiful is the name I call you,
not for righteous appearance,
not for coddling affection,
not for the wishful thinking,
but for you are beautiful.
It’s as much apart of you as every drop
or crimson rosy blood.
You are beautiful.
You, are so beautiful,
its more than just a name,
its… its… and identity of truth,
a banner to rally behind,
a truth that says your beautiful,
I believe it.

God calls you beautiful,
ordained with holy hands,
woven as so,
God says you are so,
who am I to try and contradict?
Well, I’m your biggest advocate,
your barracking fan,
the loving hand at the fall,
the one who cries to see you free,
and in freedom hear you cry out this one name;
“Beautiful!!!”
What is the day worth without hearing the truth?
Next to nothing,
but hear is the truth,
You’re beautiful,
not just in appearance, being, or in flesh,
But in the beauty of your true Identity.

Your Name is beautiful,
its why I say it to you all the days,
because I want to gain attention,
and bring a neglected thing to light,
You are beautiful,
You are beautiful,
You are beautiful,
this is a truth, I hope you believe it
as I believe it!
For my love wishes you to know it
all of your days, to live in beauty,
since its your name,
and loving identity.

The seas are tough,
an eerie calm before a storm onsets,
and the fear and paralysis it possesses,
cripples me, and I suffer the doubt,
that the captain is right.
But lo’ this average day
is turned fully about,
and I stand in glorious
light of day.
That Hope is given to this
the wearied sailor,
and I might rest confident
of his assured skills and
power o’er the seas, and
this my vessel.
He steers me to calmer seas,
and giveth me rest,
taking me down narrow courses
for his names sake.
And tho’ I do sail on bitter seas,
I shall fear not, for his limits
aren’t limited to mine.
You Comfort me.
You giveth me rest,
when I am weary,
you giveth me rest,
when I am stressed,
you giveth me rest,
when I am angry,
you giveth me rest,


You, Giveth me rest.

You see,
its not just me,
its common to the world,
hurt by this love, so called.

We walk around,
hurting,
in each step a burden,
a curse,
seeking some blessed relief,
finding only suffering,
we walk with knives in our hearts.

A generation,
all of whom have scars,
are being scarred,
inflicting the most horrific pain,
a generation with knives,
knives protruding from their hearts.


a generation without smiles,
with gloomy faces all around,
dreading each day,
each step, each task,
as we slowly gather more and more knives,
knives we keep in our heart,
because we're too busy to remove them,
or scared of the pain.

So we walk around with knives in our hearts,
it seems easier...
but this is insane.

You look at me,
with eyes that bring me glee,
those starlight eyes,
is it of no surprise,
that I adore you,
and those starlight eyes.

What is this feeling,
I get so strongly,
its like I'm stargazing,
its like I'm drifting freely,
Deeper and deeper,
into those starlight eyes.

You look at me with those darling eyes,
in my life I start to feel a new sunrise,
I'm o'erwhelmed by those dreamy eyes,
all worries within me subside,
at the sight of those starlight eyes.

Is it of no surprise?
I get lost in your starry eyes,
they hold so much, and don't disguise
the matters of which one cries,
its your starlight eyes,
which makes Joy in my heart arise.

WHEN the lamb is born,
In innocence and grace,
the time will be ever approaching,
when the lamb becomes a Ram,
a shift in thinking,
a change in action,
a new appearance,
a seemingly new you.


WHEN the day comes,
and maturity changes you,
be not afraid,
be not wary,
be confident,
Be all that makes a ram
a ram.

Through the fires of conflict,
or the coming of an age,
the steely bite of emergency,
the Lamb, will nevertheless become,
A ram.

Beneath the Amber sun,
above the reflection of the waters,
his armies did assemble,
ready to smash, bash, and gnash,
the hope of the Fea'inor
dwindled.
Numbered so few, that any host of evil
could easily leave them ruined,
Rua'grain, absorbed the fears,
and disolved the confidence,
until, Mædhras, delivered words inspiring
to all.
'Be brave my fellow warriors,
that this day Evil may take not one
step more, and We the free,
may tell the tales of this day.
Fight not for the chance that you
may live, but that your children,
your wives, you families may have
just one beloved day more!
Waste not that which is sacred,
be not careless with your lives,
but fight for that one extra day.
It is worth it.'

Resounding horns, echoing on the waters,
the flash of steel, magnified by the reflection,
the hearts of Men, united with Old Allies,
once more bore a flame, akin to none
beheld before.
The force of Good with swiftness moved,
the host of Rua'grain,
creatures from every shadow,
crevasse, and lair,
assembled to have at the free and fair.

10,000 creatures, all with sullied eyes
stampeded in a wild craze.
With courage, the Fea'inor defended,
pushing back against the rage,
fighting to the last,
and making this en-darkened host pay.

Mædhras, stands, resolute upon the eastern shore,
his foes strewn all about him,
smote upon the bloodied shore.
His courage unyielding,
strength unending,
the host of evil festering around him.

To his call his men did rally,
showing all valor and courage,
defending, and assaulting,
inflicting devastation upon they
who sought to destroy fea'inor' homes.

In one final push,
one last show of strength,
Mædhras lead his men
along the endless shore,
and forced his sword,
gleaming and rubied,
into Rua'grains soulless chest,
The Host of Evil, corruption
and all villainy departed,
fleeing for the hills,
and making a victorious sound,
Fea'inor went in humbled pursuit.

Yet, along the endless shore,
after all Good and Evil had left
these two figureheads engaged
in the greatest combat,
Locked for all eternity,
to create the birth of Day,
and death of Night.

Of those great moments,
the ones where epiphanies occur,
be they on the loo,
or in the stunning view,
they occur more often than not,
in solitude.

He's keen, he's ready,
standing to, and eagerly awaiting
codeword: Irene.

What's this?
He's gone all soft and shy,
how can he push into the task?
Why he's of no use,
back to barracks with him.

Yet, he'll try and try again,
brave and upright,
he'll somehow get a fright,
and its off to barracks again.

The mind of this boy, it swelled,
full of 'what-ifs?' and his passion, it shrunk,
the officer in sight,
sent him packing,
all the way back to barracks.

For you see,
at first his courage was great,
but before even the call came,
he was shy and timid,
just at the thought of his duties,
and he grew disheartened,
and was sent back to barracks

Hunger throughout the world,
Wars at home and abroad,
Political scandals and childish debate,
Global warming, the truth awaits,
STI's, part-going teens, Alcohol and drugs,
police combatting crime committing thugs.
The world is a mess,
and no one seems to care.

I do,
I care about the famine,
earth and wars,
the scandals and debate,
truth,
disease, frivolity and substances,
crime,
all these things I profess to care about.
Do you?

O’er the hills, in the far eastern valleys vast expanse, there lays the green pastures, on which the shepherds flock does so comfortably feast. Where the knee-high blades bend beneath your hands as you reach down.

Barefoot, you run across the wide, open plains,
the beads morning dew catch on your feet.
As footprints you do leave, trail across the emerald plain.

Small seemingly insignificant dots of flowers,
Red, blue, yellow, a great host of colour, quite the pretty painting it would be. The flowers beds, home to the elegant dances of the flowing butterflies, and the youthful crickets song.

The sapphire sky, with snow white clouds, lingering here and there,
float and drift in timing with the winds whisper, gentle though it were.

As one wanders throughout the Wonderful grasslands, you see the fleet of blades shiver and dance. Final beads of dew do catch the radiant spot of sun, and catches in your eye, a photograph a painting, of a wonderful Elysian Field.

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.

I was no ordinary child,
if anything I was something mild.
My Friends were not always people,
but something more desirable.

For one day, as chance did have it,
I was walking through the store,
my parents just behind me, then, there it
was, that teddy bear I began to adore.

I raved and I got excited...
There was simply this wonderful bear,
and to receive it, I would have been delighted,
but...Little did I know the story of this bear.

Many weeks if not months had passed,
Christmas fell upon us, and in the passions
of removing christmas wrappings, I had
seen the white fur, I thought is was illusions.

But nay, It was my bear from the store,
wrapped in a box, with his sapphire cloak
and his lovely soft and white fur,
and it was never a cruel joke.

Now, However, Its tale is somewhat sadder,
He sits enthroned on a shelf, ne'er seeing use,
recognition or thanks. It must be a kind of abuse,
to leave this bear sitting on the shelf each day growing sadder.

I would like to make a change,
but unfortunately I had to age.

An aged battleship retires,
A child with a newborn sibling,
Last months trends and desires,
Or even last years Christmas giftings.

Old news.
Unfortunate.
Used and abused.
Neglected.

Old ****** news.

IN a state of brokenness,
With hands tied I look to you,
My souls waters stirred,
My Saviour,
beaten, and I'm ashamed.
My Saviour,
slain for my sins,
and I'm ashamed,
I'm ashamed.

Christ Crucified,
put to death,
a death which set me free,
Now, I'm free,
free forever in him.

Unyielding love,
he called me from the darkness,
his purpose for me to live,
for me to survive,
and in him, Thrive.

My soul untied,
by the saviour who died
my hands purified,
by the man who died,
My heart sanctified,
by the Son who died.

He broke my chains,
he conquered my shame,
he led me to light,
he showed me how to love,
he revealed me to myself,
unmasked, unashamed,
I am free,
set free by the man who died for me.

I'm in awe,
beauteous amazement,
I'm in praise of him,
king of kings,
I'm in worship of him,
the lord of lords,
standing in awe of him,
the risen king.

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.

Alone* in the dark, I sat reclined,
My mind bickering, between thoughts.
Questions I have asked Time and again.
Each time asked met with a response
Different from the last. Oh, How this is very
Normal.

Festering away, burrowing deep,
Exposing ideas long since forgotten.
Scintillas of pain here and there,
Shame and shock, pride and joy,
The entire spectrum of emotions.

Dredge up my mind, 
Till this fertile soil,
Until this mind, indeed my soul too,
Is firmly planted,
Bearing fruit.

But what if I should bear a multitude
Of fruits!? What then? Was this meant 
To be? Or is it a defect and I need to start -
again?

How many times have you dreamt of her?
Wishing, praying, hoping,
How many times have you silently sat in a corner?
Amidst a crowd of people you know,
Longing to be....away.....

How often do you look out your window?
Often at night to see the few stars
That aren't hidden by the cities lights,
How many times have you found yourself alone?
Sitting in a dark tunnel,
No light in any direction,
Sinking into despair.
How many times have you wanted to escape?
How often?
Frequently?
Intermittently?
Rarely?
How often?

I feel like I'm drowning some days,
My burdens weighing me down,
Dragging me to the depths,
All hope and light fading.

It's slow
It's painful
It's deep


It isn't over.
This isn't the end of me.
And suddenly I can breathe.
Fresh and easily.
Air.
Life.
Hope.

Something lifted the weight,
Someone took my place,
This isn't the end of me.

It shouldn't be the end of you.

The world is bleak, the young die
while old live on,
fewer and fewer are born,
till none survive and its the beginning of the end.

But here, Amidst the chaos, amidst the desperation,
amidst the troubles and woes of the world,
a significant chance of hope,
a woman with child, provides hope to the hopeless.

Months into the process, it seems supernatural,
a world of hopelessness, and here the mother to be hides.
Kept hidden, kept "safe", extorted, "protected"
and then, rescued and led on the necessary mission.

Born in a camp, a slum, a ghetto,
those dulcet tones were heard.
The infants cries resounded,
and hope was then restored.

Such an infant could bring the peoples
up from their knees. To resume life as it should
be. To ensure that man survives,
first it has to survive Man.

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.

You hear the sound of couples
dressed high and fancy,
mingle as their souls tap the floor outside,
to the sound of strings, brass, and percussion
tempering themselves for the heat of music.
The passionate movements of bows,
batons, and fingers, to form the wonderful
elegance, behind the masterful music composed
by fellows now long gone.

Ah, to the sounds of majors and minors
my heart feels at ease, to the subtle creaking of chairs,
to the rhythmic chimes and strums of instruments within
the skilled orchestral ensemble. All this,
topped by the eccentric and emphatic movements
of the swift conductors hands, and arms,
watch the spring, when the crescendo arrives
his spring is let loose, and jolts,
currents, swift, sleek, fluent motions, baton in one
passionate turning of pages as music flies on by,
at 4/4 pace.

Oh, the fine thunder of the percussion,
and deepest strums of bass at the right,
combined in a movements finale, to make an
awe-inspiring harmony, that one does not
really expect, with two previous movements
just elegant and peaceful,
such a quickened pace and depth of drum
and strum takes us all by surprise.

Then, Silence,
joyful applause,
continuous applause,
then its all over,
and we head home.

IN the Rose Gardens,
Down by the riverside,
Sequestered by high hedge,
Riddled with beds and trees.

The Youthful Couple,
Mediocre at first, fall into sync,
They make their way,
enjoying the Rose Garden.

They intertwine their fingers,
and take a moment to admire views,
and sights. They move elegantly,
promoting closeness rather than distance.

They are at the height of joy,
they are together,
they profoundly adore each other,
and one they love.

They provide a new sensation,
their bellies tingle and tickle.
A dance resemblant of the butterflies flutter,
felt to their core.

What is the cause?
profound yearning, and desire,
not of lusts, but loves,
Love for one another.

This is the Rose Garden sensation,
Perhaps you're lucky to have it,
or soon find it,
all have their luck.

Have I in youthful folly given devotion
to something that is naught but a dream
of ash and hollow pain, locked with envy
and anger. Am I pursuing something that
is nigh but a dream and something that is
truly not destined to be?
am I pursuing an idle dream?
Aye, this thought of mellow and unease,
plague this youthful mind,
and bring down this giant.

Walking through a dim lit street,
recent rains pleasant stench lurks in puddles,
and the puddles, which reflected softest starlight,
the odd cars steady rumble as it passes,
the softening heart in the loneliness,
that when he leant upon the sandstone balustrade,
delicately ornate along the rivers edge,
and watching the canal boats drift on by,
as did time.
he in his depth and solitude, pondered
all his steps, wondering which step was wrong or simply,
out of place.
He had lost that which he had placed the
most value, and sadly it beat him down.
Tho' the starlit riviera, of this damp town,
was a quick relief to his aching
heart, which were torn asunder,
from a ill-thought blunder.
Oh well he thinks, as he walks down the lengthy path,
beside the starlit reflective river.

I will crown you with Love,
I shall crown you with tender care.
I’ll make you feel adored,
valued to your core!

Bring you to a surprise,
one summers night,
a lovers dance,
beneath the willows branch.

Oh yes,
I know I’m a simple man,
but behind it all,
is just this one crazy man,
who finds himself totally mad
about just one person,
Just You.

I’ll take you by the hand,
into some foreign land,
to shower you with freedom,
and liberation from that we knew.

Rome, Paris, London, Berlin, Vienna,
the nations far away,
hosting Our antics,
Our getaway,
Our holiday,
I’ll hold your hand through it all!


I’ll love you for the days
I’ll love you for the nights,
for the memories,
for the happiness,
for all that you give me,
as I give you my all,
You’re totally worth it,
yes, You’re totally worth it.

I’ll say it again,
You’re totally worth it.

Even when you bash yourself,
Reduce the hope,
give rise to worry,
inspire fear,
I’ll be there to keep you here,
to keep you calm,
to keep loving you,
through it all,
and you ask “Why?”
I ask, “Why not?”
I love you,
you’re worth it.

What eerie Mists, and Mysterious frosts
lay waste to this lively heart, that all its aspects
beauteous they may be, subjected to the rigorous
threats and faults of sinful life. They hope to besmirch
this lively heart.

The stormy gales, the warm clear skied vales,
all apart of this world twisted routines,
"Good Cop, Bad Cop' as it were, flawed.
When it is ridden on this routine, it soared.

The winter has subsided, the Summer has blossomed,
and all this vale does is resemble the good nature of the heart.
No matter what it is subjected too, it shall eventually be returned
and all this world will not thrive till hate is removes from the heart.

So many unchartered channels,
and coursing currents, in the deepest ravines,
or the steepest hills,
masked in shadow, drenched with emotion,
this is the human heart.

The poor explorer,
the one who wants to know every nook and cranny,
must endure the rain, heat, and cold,
the light and dark,
he persists, deep into the human heart.

That poorest fellow,
but by choice he carries on.

In every season,
in all our misfortune,
he persists until every sector,
square and quadrant of the vast human hearts
expanse, is chartered, and know,
leaving nothing to mystery.