There's no rest for the wicked. The plot thickens. The blood thins, then bleeds out onto the thorny thickets biting at bare shins, which sickens you to death times ten. Now you're feeling like a tiger in human skin. You begin setting off on the prowl for substance and the meaning of your life akin to the World's splendor. It's sustenance revealed to your awoken third eye of insight. The mind's eye of you and me, sees bountiful trees breathing and leaning towards your sweeping winds of change. Swaying towards every gaze, starstruck and amazed, chasing the dreams of completing this crazy maze of madness. Tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears that lubricate the gears that moves giant machines for years to come. May they be for peace, safety, and fun. Genes of the spirals behind our tattered, denim jeans holds molecular machines within us. Tiny gears set into motion, creating particular love potions, pouring out into vast oceans of debris floating in currents aligned. Strive for hopes and meanings sublime. Finely layered lines of poetry shine out from the beating hearts of timely martyrs chiming, rhyming, and climbing up the never-ending step ladder of the divinely. Ascension from the tension of the rotting vine of hatred, did I mention the sign of sacred love, which swoops down from above? The dove from it's perch of light, stares directly into your sight. Bright, dazzling displays amaze you more by the day.
Chasing and facing the challenges of anxiety, stress, and worry, obstructions of a 10 story building crumbling down all around you. Dust-bellowing clouds to choke and blindly block your steps around the destruction. Using torn limbs as ****** crutches, stumbling amongst dozens of slain wretches. Bets are placed for survival of the quickest and fittest. The wittiest guy you know is fastidious as the insidious destroyers of tomorrow.
This poem I borrowed from my soul and mind. The lines have spilled out onto shining paper reflecting the light from the mind's eye. All these meaningless rhymes will move tides that waves to you goodbye.

Thorough I fall in gravity's stall. My jaw unhinges during the opening of my mouth, spewing out silent, unspoken words of unimportance. Blah, blah, blah, I keep wandering about, unheard, unwanted, and unaware of your *******. Stupidity for the all-knowing and self-righteous minions, may their force not be with me. I speak with crow medicine, better than prescriptions. I feel with emotion. I listen with soul. I think with mind. I love with heart and convictions.

Let music be your master of melody.
Let music be your key.
Let music be your teacher of tuning.
Let music be you and me.
Let music be your sensei of soothing.
Let music let you see.
Let music be your guru of groove.
Let music make you dream.
Let music be your guide to move.
Let music let you be.
Let music be your educator of expression.
Let music keep your steam.
Let music be your destroyer of depression.
Let music create your scene.
Let music be your professor of passion.
Let music pay your fee.
Let music be your tutor of truth.
Let music plant a seed.
Let music be all of these.
Let music set you free.

The Spirit bomb, an astrological bond, one's soul is gone, drowning in some pond of self-reflections.
A fantastic plan, with a swift wave of your hand, storms spawned to creation and hide the life-giving sun, quite overwhelming for some.
A pair of enchanted paradise swans, fawn over the other to shine forth the calm-bringer, the sister and brother, from one father and mother, some sort of creator or another.
Flutter over nests of destruction, plotted taxed lands from some great nation of abduction.
Some ******* nut takes a crack and starts building some destroying station of war. A nurtured relation, branded straight from emancipation. Granted permission to dream, granted permission to score, a silent scream, and twisted avocation of means, to become a ******* conglomerate stone, ****** out of your love-drunk mind, well thought out, well wrote. You note the crazy schemes of some bloke, clouded and choked out on the spindle of passion that dwindles.
An ignited flame once enkindled, blossoms up from your windowsill.
Still spilling more silly meaning to life, quite the light we got, right?
Dishing out your thoughtless waste of despair, as some desperate stranger of danger casts shadowy scars on a scare. Emotionally teared, wearing a cloak of danger and destruction, beware.
Directions of  death's stare, brings you to the wrong side of the lawn.
Tested and bested, your entire fragile being grows stronger.
A glowing peace-monger brought among us, clowning and frowning on useless sorrow, working towards a brighter tomorrow.
A distraction of impaired hollows that swallow your goals whole, life sure is taking it's toll, spitting and ******* you out on some strange and foreign shore. You'll learn to keep roaring for more knowledge of ancient wisdom that's stored in tiny glass vials, evermore. Imploring spirits, swirling in a massive, abysmal void, while seeking out another vessel and droid.
Exploiting chords of beautiful music is kissed on the faces of the missed. Best wishes!
Dished out on the paper you write another poetic vision that assists the songs of hopeful travelers abroad. Setting out on adventurous travels, that unravels marvelous mysteries and beauty, enameled on bland and barren lands.  
Wishing wells and swishing swells of free-flowing rivers, amongst endless givers of calm, and grand oceans of drawn out motions, be strong.
The Spirit bomb blows off, out into the dawn of new horizons.
The Sun is rising, then gone.

A blithering fool I am. I bring some more tasty, poetic food to a full table of empty people again.
The smell of decay is swept over, with a savory draft of nauseous meat.
Close that fluttering trap, sit the **** down and warm your seat.
Here's a bottle of whines for your *******. Eat, meet and greet, and please, this Filet Mignon is too tough for my teeth.
Seething in impatient anger, Lisa demands another plate. Complacent waitress Marie patiently escapes the bubble of her "high class" greed. She then tells the cook for another steak, medium-well please! Geez, what a smile planted on her face, while she comes out to face the *****, condescending looks of a rich, shrewd couple that doubles a shroud of negativity, which makes poor Marie's day an even more stressful activity.
A chest full of kindness she displays to great lengths, but the couples' stuck-up, ******-up attitudes stinks worse than a pig pen in May. Paul and Lisa brings **** to everyone's fun parades. The stakes are high, while the next course swings by. Bring us some cookies, brownies, and ice-cream cones pronto! Not a smile, but smirk, as she rushes to grant the picky requests from rude folks. She looks dazzling, even amongst the mess. Then she trips and falls, hurling a tray of glasses. A swirling disaster, shards of glass spray everywhere amongst the upper-class masters. A blast of laughter erupts from Paul and Lisa's direction. Sitting smug, they look the happiest they've been in months. Quite the ugly reflections, marriage fights, and failed Republican elections. Careless customers rush by and look down dirtily upon her inspection. They just continue on their way to their seats of self-destruction. Waitress Marie brings herself to her knees, no helpful hands to her silent pleas. Co-workers agree that this couple is a messy infection. Marie finally stands and rushes to a bathroom to medicate her bleeding arm. Her charm dwindling away, as a swarm of classy critters, with dresses that glitters, shove her out of their important way. Feeling dismayed, she wraps up her ****** display. Great, she awaits the end to this hellish day. Amazed, her courage to carry on this shift of the shattered positive arrays is swift. She gracefully drifts out and back to her table of dreams. Amidst two faces of schemes, Paul and Lisa want their checks, with upset eyes that traces the lines on her worried forehead. A smile brings light back to her face of beauty, the couple continue to be snooty, making rude comments on her round *****. Marie rushes to get their expensive checks, and comes back with pen and paper. She gently begins to lay them down on the table, but instead, they're snatched from her grasp. Taken by surprise, she gasps. Her hands clasped, she smiles thinly at half mast. She says she hopes they enjoyed their meal, but they just laugh, leave their seats, and storm on past her in a flash. The waitress looks down at the checks, inspects, and feeling dread from within, as no tip lines we're filled in. Brimming with fury, she blinks away her frustration.
She then decides to go clean her station. As the night comes to a close, I'll finish up this crazy poem. Here's some food for thought to swallow. Be careful not to choke.
I hope this satisfies you, so wish Marie luck, for a brighter tomorrow.

Blessed be the mess that your in. Grin, as your **** drips from your roofless inn. A den of ruthless wolves, waiting to devour your goals whole, once again.
Here's another messy poem, to slap you in the face and kick you in the beautiful shin.
Sit, spin around, and face the World leaders' selfish sins. Hidden diamonds in the rough, reflect another star, or gem.
Pin a ******* medal of honor to your chin; as countless lives drown infinite sorrows, inside a bin of whiskey, or gin.
Men, women, two halves to a whole, two halves to a soul, come together to create new life to a whole.
A beautiful mess that were in, while dreams of Peace shine yet again.
Tattered child seeds on broken streets needs a peaceful brother and peaceful friend.
Fend off Hate with Love, like a special blend, or a trend. Be the dove and trim this stem of ego, I commend.
Attend a brand new mess, adventure, journey, and quest, A messed up test for glory, don't you worry. Do your best.
I attest that beauty stands tall, in this beautiful mess that we're in, above the rest.
Nights of ****** fun, brings days of angst to an end of the bed of quarry.
A brand new legend be told, a brand new awakening, a brand new story.

It's raining. It's pouring. Here's another poem for your exploring. I implore you stop snoring and ignoring the resonant glow of morning.
Touring forgotten graveyards should never shed tears of mourning. Celebrating life, while others die, isn't scorning.
Happiness and love that you're storing, sheds bright light on the adoring. Painful funerals seem quite the time, that sounds boring.
Bringing respectful flowers of purple and golden hues equals scoring. Harnessing the power of the Sun is more powerful, than the pedal of the Hummer that you're flooring. The glum guns over soldiers' shoulders fire heart-warming bullets into the sky.
Past souls still swarming, adorning their tears of sadness that rains down to the ground in the light.
Your fear and doubt, swimming around, will swallow you into lost depths for the drowning.
Sprouting up new life from the mound sounds astounding. Crowning new Queens and Kings for selfish deeds, indeed are alarming.
Memories of noble families are founding truths for crowning and gowning. Wealth to weaken poverty, for the pounding.
Quit the clowning, as the pied pipers at dawn wield magical flutes that wipes off frowning faces.
Amounting to the sorrowful pain, gained from the Earth, go wash your dirt, hurt, and pain away in the rain.