Blessed is the cook
Who maketh his own fortune,
carefully seasoned

Roses are red
Violets are purple
I want to stab you
Until you all dead

I always wanted to write you a song.
I noticed people who sung and made music attracted your attention.
there's something about writing a song to someone
that makes them  love you more I always thought.

I wanted to show how your presence
gave me a sweet melody that kept my mind calm.
I just wanted you to hear
the symphony of feelings I felt for you.

Unfortunately I have no beat.
chords are too hard to put together.
I can't sing to save my life.

I could only write you cheesy poems.

for you.

about you.

about us.

but a poem is no song.

I write with the rhythm of my heart
but it's only words on a page to you.

Am I a true writer
if I can't put my love
for the moon
into
words?

Would the world make as much sense
if the sunset was green?
What if forests were silver and the
dirt was purple?
          Would love feel warm?
          Would comfort be found in fear?
Deep seas of sunflower yellow
          and mountain ranges of teal
Long roads of deep maroon
          lead us to ponds of lavender
          and caves of sapphire
Maybe in such a world
I wouldn't have forgotten trust
          Would we have met
                       or
          would we only know each other
                       in strange deja vu

"O where are you going?" said reader to rider,
"That valley is fatal when furnaces burn,
Yonder's the midden whose odors will madden,
That gap is the grave where the tall return."

"O do you imagine," said fearer to farer,
"That dusk will delay on your path to the pass,
Your diligent looking discover the lacking
Your footsteps feel from granite to grass?"

"O what was that bird," said horror to hearer,
"Did you see that shape in the twisted trees?
Behind you swiftly the figure comes softly,
The spot on your skin is a shocking disease?"

"Out of this house" ‚ said rider to reader,
"Yours never will" ‚ said farer to fearer,
"They're looking for you" ‚ said hearer to horror,
As he left them there, as he left them there.