Hidden in skyscrapers and fairy dust,
Amongst the throngs of faceless mortal men,
Sitting just inside imagination,
We see the spectacle of The Dreamer.
Truly he is as all other humans,
Hair, skin, clothes, a face that shows a past life,
And shimmering eyes that whisper intent.
He is normal, isn't he? So he seems.
But, inside that monotonous human,
Beats the heart and life of the True Dreamer.
In his mind play a thousand different hopes.
A cascade of colors bloom forth for him.
Earth's white walls are slashed and scarred with pigment.
His mind is truly his last limiter.
Raw energy pulses into being.
The Dreamer is as a king, no, a god.
His world, a canvas. Its people, models.
The sticky-sweet joy of life leaps outward.
An explosion, a mesmurizing bomb.
The Dreamer, its epicenter, so bright.
All this in his heart, and only his eyes,
Only his eyes hold the key to his world,
For they are salty seas of deepest light,
As the wonder flows out of his being.

Welcome back!
Wow it's dusty!
Back to the attack!
With my mind so trusty!
I'm finally writing!
Writing again!
No more fighting
Now trying to win!
Hello Poetry!
Time to write!
Hello Poetry!
Poetry's bright!
Wow this  is corny!
I don't really care!
Please don't be thorny!
Ideas are popping out of my hair!
I'm back!
Writing again!
Let's begin!
I'm. So. Excited!

Inside my Garden
Of Misleading Wonders,
I house a particular Rose.
A Rose of great beauty,
A Rose so wonderous,
A Rose worthy of masterful prose.
The Pinprick Rose,
A great fickle Rose,
A Rose o' so painful to grow,
This enchanting Rose,
So painful to grow,
So fickle and slow,
Is rightfully so,
As its planter, you see, I ought to know.
Its petals are Rubies,
Diamonds its dew,
Its stem is of Jade -oh- and emeralds too.
It grows in the night,
Quite far out of sight,
A rather shy creature,
Quite partial to fright.
But when it is grown,
And when it's full bloom,
And when it bright petals burst forth from their womb,
It changes...
This Pinprick Rose,
So worthy of prose,
So painful to grow,
So fickle and slow,
So dark in the night,
So far out of sight,
So partial to fright--
It changes.
Its Petals, they bleed,
Its Stem takes on weeds,
Its Dew all concedes.
It Thorns all out lash,
The Rose starts to thrash,
Your life could be ending with just one simple slash.
The Rose is a monster, once it is grown,
That's the whole point, in Fate it is sewn...
Inside my Garden
Of Misleading Wonders,
I house a particular Rose.
A Rose of great Evil,
A Rose so murderous,
A Rose worthy of masterful prose.
The Pinprick Rose,
A great fickle Rose,
A Rose o' so painful to grow,
This ensnaring Rose,
So painful to grow,
So fickle and slow,
Is rightfully so,
As its planter, you see, I ought to know...

The Scarlet Bird, it calls to me,
The Scarlet Bird, I try to flee.
The Scarlet Bird, it wants me dead,
The Scarlet Bird, it's in my head.
The Scarlet Bird, it soars above,
The Scarlet Bird slays Hope and Love.
The Scarlet Bird, it's Fear and Hate,
The Scarlet Bird, it's Tears and Fate.
The Scarlet Bird, it's Cheats and Lies,
The Scarlet Bird, Earth slowly dies.
The Scarlet Bird, it's War and ****,
The Scarlet Bird, there's no escape.
The Scarlet Bird, we cannot hide,
The Scarlet Bird, it's now inside.
The Scarlet Bird, its eyes ablaze,
The Scarlet Bird, the End of days.
The Scarlet Bird, it marks our Doom,
The Scarlet Bird, our Scarlet Tomb.

Everybody knows,
I can see it in their eyes,
Everybody knows,
All the girls and all the Guys,
Everybody knows,
So Everybody stares,
Everybody knows,
And Everybody cares.
They slash me with their tongues,
They shoot me with their words,
The air escapes my lungs,
Like thousands of stray birds.
Everybody knows,
And Everybody cares.
They corner me with hits and blows,
It's time to say my prayers.
I'm sorry, my dear Father,
I wish I could be normal,
I don't want to be a bother,
Amongst the others so immoral.
They're coming now, I can see them,
I try to get away,
I hear them chant the ancient hymn,
"****, ******, Gay."
They slash me with their tongues,
They shoot me with their words,
But I rise up with my Loved ones,
And push them back in herds.
They hiss they yell their horrid jeers,
They know that now they're done,
They hear only triumphant cheers,
A boy who through his Love has won.

The strewn stitches, still smiling,
Still attempting to bring joy, but no joy comes.
An unnoticed cog in the wheel.
Like a drug addict craving a fix, this one craving a hug,
His chest ripped open, his warm soul stolen.
His eyes, unblinking, look on,
Forever…
Forever searching for a friend.
As an apostle searches for their god.
Tattered cloth flesh, smudged and blackened with dust.
A saint in fur, thrown away,
Still, still, still forgotten,
Like a wrapper after the candy.
The rips, the tears, the holes still remain.
The constant reminders of being uncared for.
A Burn from a week under the heater,
A rip in his chest, a gift from the dog,
Mold from the box in the moist basement,
His prison for the last six years.
.The child grew up,
No need for a bear,
Real friends now
No need for a toy,
No need for the memories,
New ones to be made.
No need for a forgotten, soulless smile.

The Church is beautiful, a perfect white.
The Altar is magnificently lit.
Dozens of candles burn the sweetest scents.
The pews are filled with many bright-eyed guests,
The closest of Family in the front.
Ah! Finally the Orchestra begins.
The doors swing wide as “The Bridal March” plays.
The Beaming Bride is on her Father’s arm.
They start their stroll to the holy Altar,
Followed closely by the two Flower Girls,
Their cute pink dresses flowing in the breeze.
Ah! And there is the dapper Groom waiting.
He looks into his soon-to-be-wife’s eyes,
And she grins, now she finally has him.
He peers to his Best Man, who gives a smile.
The Groom relaxes, comforted by him.
The Music stops and the Groom lifts the veil.
The Priest begins the ceremony now.
As the Holy Man drones on, The Groom thinks.
He then steps down and speaks loud to the crowd.
Speaks of lies, tricks, of false and secret loves.
He steps to his Best Man and kisses him.
They embrace passionately through the gasps.
They join hands and run out of the Church doors.
They run off to their grand happy ending.

And the spiders eat the flies,
And the frogs eat the spiders,
And the snakes eat the frogs,
And the birds eat the snakes,
And the cats eat the birds,
And the cats eat the birds,
And the cats grow fat and the
cats grow slow and the cats all die,
And the flies eat the cats,
And frogs eat the flies,
And the spiders eat the birds,
And the cats eat the snakes and
then there are the gators and the gators
eat them all and the gators eat them all,
And the gators grow fat,
And the gators all die,
And the flies eat the gators, and the cats,
and the birds, and the snakes, and the frogs,
and the spiders, and the plants and the
garbage, and
everything...
The flies eat the world
and the humans don't know,
And the humans don't know.
They're all inside,
Because flies are annoying.