Boast, not thyself of tomorrow
For thou knows not a day may bring forth.
I am looking for a second love
Because my first love he

Never fulfilled my wildest fantasies
Where no wood is, there the fire goes out.
So where there is no talebearer, the strife ceases

So can you blame me, for looking for my second love?
Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart
A warm hand can smooth a broken wing.
So where was my first love hands

When men say these words
Not tonight honey. I have a headache
A common phrase for women: men curse.
But what’s wrong when men emit it so often

Come, all you young men with your wicked, wicked ways,
Sow your wild oats in your younger days,
So that you may be happier when you grow old
For your days is shorter and your nights will be long

The mind of an old poet,
Can be poetic in translation,
His reputation about delivering his verbs, meter, sonnets and limerick
Runs smooth

However rhythm is the essence of poetry
In reality to entertain his loves in bed:  
Distill and not powerful enough his love making ****!
Hold down your head Tom Dooley.
No tranquility he wept in silent

While the children sleep
I learn from my immediate elders who taught me
the good, the bad and the ugly;
however, my strength is hiding deep within.
If only the pain weren’t so severe.

An ugly duckling who suffers Verbal and physical abuse
From the cool, pretty crowds of clueless incompetent?
You with your tawny hair, they often shout
Flat jacks with granny strap
String beans without the lean

So cruel; so mean those  terrorist sounds  
That goes round and round on the playground
While the children sleep  through the night
I play with night flyers
Golden wings and friendly flittering smiles we dance,
Into Twinkling lights of the meadow;
Late at night without the feuds or the abuse of the inferiors
I got teary eyes as I say farewell to my misty friends

Bigotry and hatred, Playgrounds terror,
  Children of the cornfields rules the inner cities school
Throughout kindergarten into high school

You must process the Skill of a tiger, speed of a leopard
Going to school going isn’t any fun anymore

This is the day of trouble, and of rebuke, and blasphemy: the
The children are coming to birth and there is not strength
To bring forth:(bibical)

Poetry writing
Who really appreciated this art?
A rich man or a poor’s man theme
Is poetry writing for everyone?
Poetry is a world itself
To appreciate this art,
One’s mind must be at ease,
To see, to feel, and not to rely on spoken words
That might seem nonsensical to some
However, perfect to others

Unlike a poetic poor man graffiti and a rich man artifacts
Its labels as a rich man war and a poor man’s fight
Unlike the beauty in a Michael Angelo
Masterpiece of Art Pieta
Or Vincent van Gogh Paintings Water lily
The poor man display his graffiti
No admission, no fee
Priceless art crimes or
The best of a simple criminal mind

High art or low art
Eyes of a rich man
Or the eyes of a fool
In the world we knew