Who really wins
when you argue their folly
when it's your reaction
that gives them their jolly

It's your peace that is broken
personal harmony dies
shouting them down
is so seldom is wise

They seek to birth anger
with a message so sick
but living peaceful or angry
is your choice then to pick

But anger brings bitterness
and bitterness hate
that direction needs ending
before it's too late

A harmonious spirit
a peaceful heart
is an honorable movement
one we must start

Breath* whisper,
*"He is in every single one of me."
Heart murmurs,
"He is tucked cozily in me ,as long as I am beating."
Hope utters,
"Never lose me, this man,one day you'll get to see."
Smile comforts,
"So put me on young lady, get ready for the.  
   meeting."

Heartbeat reveals,
"He brings a new meaning to each thump of mine."
Mind affirms,
"I'm telling you,you can't take him off me."
Eyes mime,
"When you close me, he'll send chills down your
   spine."
Love expresses,
"Trust him, I'm true, he would go down on his.    
   knee."

Test conveys,
"I'm sent down from above, but both of you will
   pass."
Miss admits,
"You feel me so much, you pray so hard for him to be
   closer."
Tears confess,
"I trickle down your cheeks like drops of crystal clear
   glass."
Faith assures, *"Have me, these tough days will
   soon be over."

Death and Life sat together
Watching as the sun
Went away that night and said
Goodnight to everyone

Death was looking at Life
Whose head was pointed to the ground
Why my beautiful Mistress
Do you carry such a frown?

Life replied sadly,
I am sad to only see
That tears and screams await you
And all the smiles go to me

Death now understood
Why his mistress was depressed
I can't explain it all, said he
But I'll try to do my best.

Death, hand in hand with Life,
Started to explain,
I am a Truth that can't be outrun,
But you are a Lie that they live away.

You are merely temporary,
But I am always imminent,
Although they want the opposite
I am stuck forever, permanent

But isn't there- said Life
Who was promptly stopped by Death,
No, he answered, there's none.
So she cried through broken breaths

Death heard a familiar ring;
And all too familiar it was.
I must be going.
And you should leave as well,
For reasons you should be knowing.

Yes, said Life
Through her broken cries,
For you are the Unwanted Truth,
And I am their Beautiful Lies.

Death began to chuckle,
Yes this is true.
That every Truth ends with me,
And every Lie begins with you.

So they walked away together
And through the hospital doors,
One to tell a Truth,
And the other to Lie once more.

do you know what it feels like
to be sweet talked then back stabbed?

do you know what it feels like
for everyone to know what you've done?

do you know what it feels like
when he leaves after you let him see another layer of you?

do you know what it feels like
to be used when you thought he care about you?

do you know what it feels like
for him to never speak to you again after you finally let him in?

do you know what it feels like
when your first boyfriend does these things?

do you know what it feels like
when you call me those names even when your'e kidding?

do you know what it feels like
when you can't trust anyone after what has happened to you?

do you know what it feels like
to live with all the regret because he made you do those things?

do you know what it feels like
to want to know why no one can love you?

do you know what it feels like**
because I do.

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

When, in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
    For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
    That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her ******* are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
    And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
    As any she belied with false compare.