.
come on honey
let's go do something
new
we could record a
platinum record
or skydive off the Eiffel tower
we could sail across
the atlantic
or climb a big
ol' mountain

or maybe
we could just fall in
love
and dance among the stars.

yes,
that sounds about right to me

There is a lonely man in a big blue box

He says that he hates goodbyes.

Most people are disbelieving, they scoff:

They think that he outright lies.

Others sometimes wonder:

What past events underlie

To make this one Time Lord dislike goodbyes?

He's always alone, this man.

His companions are long gone.

Every time he says hello,

Every time he crashes into a lawn,

Every time he helps or saves,

Every time he meets someone:

There's always a goodbye.

He had a family, all the same.

Yet they are gone now.

He had his Gallifreyan friends

With whom he would play games.

He had his whole planet with its orange skies

But it went up in equally orange flames.

There's always a goodbye.

Some of his companions are still around.

That could be enough for him to smile.

For him to grin wide and say, "Yay!"

But then he remembers that others are lost.

How many people, he couldn't say.

So when this Time Lord dreams

He thinks of a wonderful, happy day.

In which all his friends are here to stay:

And he can still "vworp" away to Gallifrey.

You, a traveller, a helper, a god,

You, a wanderer, a drifter, so odd.

You, a warrior, a killer, of hate,

You, a redeemer, a healer, too late.

You, who lost, and never could find,

You, so sad, it made you more kind.

You, drenched, in the blood of whole worlds,

You, with secrets, that never unfurl.

You, eyes dark, with sorrow and guilt,

You, with renown you regret being built.

You, who travels across the great skies,

You, with such rage in your ancient eyes.

You, so easy, to just jump off the shelf,

You, who loathes nothing more than yourself.

You, who feels pain, in every breath,

You, who'd be thankful, for the gift of sweet death.

The man who lives upon a cloud

Separate from the world

He picks his way through peace and war

If only to observe

The man who drifts above us all

Has no known kith or kin

He lives and breathes his every breath

With memory of sin

The man who harbours two cold hearts

And cannot ever die

He suffers twice the love and loss

This is why he lies

The man who tries to stop himself

From ever getting close

To any human he might so meet

No losses he shall host

The man who lives upon a cloud

Alone in the sky

This way he never says hello

Or has to say goodbye

Police box

Pull to open

Deepest shade of blue

Stole a mad man

Ran away

Off to see the universe

Each swirl and spark of time

The galaxies of space

Infinite possibilities

So easy to be lost

And never found

Flying through oblivion

Hope you don't fall

Into the black

Where light cannot touch

With its soft, yearning fingers

And dark awaits

With greedy hands

So fly

Don't ever stop

TARDIS and her mad man

Keep running

Don't stop

Souls and sights come and go

Losses and finds

Beginnings and ends

But ever constant

Are the TARDIS and her mad man

Always running

Never stopping

Lest they fall

Into the black

And end

So they run

The mad man

And

His

Police box

Pull to open

Poetry is just a tool

To speak your mind, not serve as rule.

Constructed help to bear one's soul,

Declare one's love, or friend console.

To speak in verse is but a scheme,

A packaging for fancy dream.

Fixing meter's common place,

But it's up to the writer's taste.

To rhyme, to pair these simple sounds,

To fuel the whimsy, feed these hounds,

Can sometimes be itself a crutch,

Or hind'rance if it's used too much.

The feeling and it's heartfelt message,

Speak more than some structured presage;

Create your voice from humble words,

An ode or sonnet, praise or gird.

Loose your arrows, verbal arcs,

And dot the Earth with sharp remarks

And when the last launched barb should fall,

Who minds if they should rhyme at all?

One is for the Timelords

Two of them are left

Three is for the schism  

Four, now here they come

One is for their friendship

Two is for their feud

Three is for the fob watch

Four, the last He'll see of you

One is for his triumph

Two is for his pain

Three is for the head bumps

Four, that were driving him insane

One and Two and Three and Four

The drums, which called to war