"The time has come," (the Walrus said,)
"To talk of many things:
Of heart and head,
To wretches and kings,
Of cloth and thread,
Why the lark sings,
Of blood and bread,
To love and strings,
Of dreams and dead,
What eternally springs."

From that moment when she smiled at me, my whole world came apart,
I had finally found my reason, but concomitantly lost my heart.

I realized, I'd have to venture out, to see her face again,
So I could recover my own, and hopefully end this pain.

I marched with poise to her house, but then I never knocked.
Although my arms were open, my joints it seemed were locked.

I had brought her some petals, that the hands of fate has chosen.
Although my heart was melting, my lips, they were frozen.

I wanted to shout out to her, but I failed, even to try.
Although my brow was dripping wet, my throat was totally dry.

I prayed that somehow, she may think to look out and see,
This wretched lost creature waiting under her window is me,

And without a word betwixt us spoken, she'd assuredly know,
That thoughts of her have me enthralled, my greatest joy and woe,

And perchance decide in her dainty mind, to end my misery,
With her smile that could embrace my soul, straight into eternity.

I apologize for my elusive attitude,
I’ve been in my fortress of solitude.
I’m sorry to those I’ve been remiss,
My reason for that, is simply this:
Beyond the how and what, a guy,
Must sit and meditate on the why.

The tide comes silently sweeping in
And embraces the warm sands in sight

The beach is lost beneath the water thin
As throes of waves thresh left and right

But soon with woe the beach is beset
For after its fill the tides' soon to take flight

To the lonely burning beach is owed a debt
Its winged messengers who beseech at closing light

Are found to rejoice the return in an aerial banquet
Of the tide to her beach in the night.

There are many agent Smiths
There is only one Neo

There are many lies
There is only one truth

There are many battles
There is only one war

There are many scars
There is only one laurel wreath

There are many tear drops
There is only one smile

There are many failures
There is only one triumph

There are many desires
There is only one soul

There are many stars
There is only one Sun

There are many dark nights
There is only one sunrise

So when you're all alone facing inevitability
Know that you are The One.

His dream was buried under
So excavating down he went
But 'twas his mind that split asunder
And his solitary heart rent

He was forced to rediscover his way
With no hope left in sight
Past treacherous rocks of obloquy
Back to a place of light

The settling dust reveal in the end
That a laurel wreath or a thorny crown
Is for the one who would dare contend
For the one who would not stay down

He soon earned his first battle scar,
When he went to war, but then he went too far,
Past barb, bullet, and fallen comrades,
Through fog and bog as hope slowly fades.

Cannon and shot heard all around,
But trembling bushes hear no sound.
Valiantly still he held his own,
But treacherous powers had him blown.

His eyes wandered to the lateral rose,
Blossom he desired, but thorns he chose.
Equal in the dust made, his crimson slowly flowed,
Replenishing parched dirt; the petals slowly glowed.

The clouds since roll above this hallowed place,
Where smiling cherubs give Boreas chase,
And each that hears the singing bushes knows,
The ballad of the warrior and his rose.

To,
Miss Jane Zoe
666 Selfish way,
Mediocreville

Subject: I'd ask you to go to hell, but then I realized you never left.

Dear Jane Zoe,

You're dead in all the ways that it matters to be alive.
The fruits and flowers aim to give, the virus merely to survive.

If blind selfishness were the world's way,
We would still have only single cells.
But life chose to lose itself for a lonesome misunderstood other:
Starting the multi-cellular diversity we cherish today.

Now, I am not a psychic, so I simply cannot converse with the dead,
So in future, take your parasitic crap to your fellow ZOmbiEs instead.

Yours Sin sear lie,
Mr. Ex Necrophilic

The hands of time tied my hands,
And held me from holding you.
With each grain of passing sands
I wish, Oh! Could not we begin anew?

A proud tongue concealed, a deaf me
To the beating of your, heart breaking.
My open eyes, were still blind to see
Tragic music, your eyes were making.

My words and tears now trudge together,
Holding, a broken man on, a broken bridge,
To summer! Away from this untimely weather
So end not in dark chasms, but the warm ridge!

To tomorrow’s love yesterday! I could not see my way,
So not her, but walls held, and souls ne'er meld away
For in my hand a timepiece swung and the principles thereof
But what she held in her heart was a piece of timeless love.

Such beauty I have seen,
That took the eyes of me,
And left me in its wake,
An unquenchable misery.

No birds in the canopy now sing,
No light of summer, No sound of Fall,
But a forgotten tomb; a sunken spring,
I crawl, awaiting Rejuvenation's call.

At first there was life
and it thought it'd live it whole.
But later it teetered on the edge of a knife
as it steadily descended into a twilight of the soul.

Nevertheless, from this void can bloom a flower
if only, it but courages the mirror in sight
and choose to believe in its power
to be the spring of its light.

Dreams bereft
but
not left,
could cloud
an empty sky.

Tears bled
but
not shed,
could fill
a silent pool.

Letters penned
but
not sent,
could consume
a tranquil wood.

Doors blocked
but
not locked,
could allow, yet,
a drop of Sun

enter the
shut,
not sealed
tomb,
and breathe

life, into
what
got cleaved:
waltzing
intertwined vines.

Will this flower always doubt this bee
And think it to be the same
As many a small buzzing fool
Who in passing before it came?

Will this ocean always be a loss,
To this hapless seeker for a way,
Alternating doldrums and stirring storms
To keep this shipwrecked one at bay?

Will this moon always draw a veil
When this wolf opens his heart
And call upon an untimely wind
Before this lonesomes' song can start?

Will this beautiful universe always twinkle
Mesmerising in sight, then gone again
But keep this star gazer bound to a hope
Of sparkling clear skies after the rain?

This beauty that we see,
of the future; how it can be,
and we want the world to know,
so we fight and die to show.
But a flower of genius must fall,
So the tree of wisdom may grow,
And soon in Spring,
its petals in wild winds will blow.
With a message:
No power can build walls so high,
that can stop the winds of change.

You're like sunrise to me.
I may not always wake up to greet you,
But if I feel you are not there,
It turns my world upside down.

You're like water to me.
I may not always pick you over free beer,
But whenever my world turns to a desert,
I need to know that you are near.

You're like sleep to me.
I may not always want you when I'm at work,
But when the coffee drip trip is done,
Your absence drives me berserk.

You're like a Picasso to me.
I may not always immediately understand what you say,
But as your convoluted logic rolls in me,
I'm satisfied, I'll get you at the end of the day.

I want to hear your heart speak,
Even if you’re afraid of what it might say.
I want you breaking free from your clique,
And return to yourself, but only,
After you first run away.

That originality is oft misunderstood, is true.
But ‘tis a sin to voice mediocrity in its lieu.
Yes! You’ll be ostracized and generally hated,
But your heart will sing a song, for which
Some ears have longingly, long waited.

The order of the world is to enslave,
So rave, rebel, and misbehave.
Before you draw your last and ride the hearse
Free your mind, clear your throat,
Then stand firm and rock your whole universe.