If you light upon
On the way to your destination
When winter is at the hieght of bloom
An orphan, a hollowed man or anyone
Offer him a blanket to **** his shivering
And if he burns, in summer, in the heavenly blaze
Open your umbrella over his bubbling head
And don't forget to water his choked throat

Hail to the guests
Kith and kin and all
As a fiancé is done at her home
Or a sibling, aloof for livelihood,
Makes a comeback after swan years

Speak softly and gently
And let the petals blow on your lips
And speak as the innocent does
Wear smile when the neighbour knocks
Though in the day or after evening fall
And of a bit of favour begs

You don't have to be a tornado
To change the world wherever you go.

You don't have to be a thunderstorm
To be heard in this noisy world.  

You don't have to be a lightning bolt
To light the world and make it glow.  

Power doesn't have to be extreme,
And being gentle isn't being weak.
The Grand Canyon wasn't formed
By an explosion, but by a stream.

Kissing you was like swallowing
the salty, salty sea:

I have corals for ribs,
and seaweed limbs;
my bones are ship-wreck saves
and wishful pennies.

My heart is a sea-shell:
if you put your ear to it,
you’ll hear me screaming, shouting,
pining
for you.

She dragged a steak knife
  across her forehead.
I said,
   What the **** is your--
Hey, we all have problems.
She killed herself with
the memory
   of a system.
Everyone was begging.
Beg. Beg. Beg.
   Make me a star!!
I want to be
   Kurt Cobain!!
So, they dragged blades
and did smack.
Tweeted lyrics
and took selfies
with a poster of--

But she was never alive, right?
There can't be a her
if there's a me.
But I suppose what it condensed
is bound to
  shoot out into
itty
    bitty
stars.

Good ******* Christ,
redeem the men and women
slaughtering genitals.
Grinding against
  the hole in society.

Are you ******* serious?
  Oh my god,
I will die if he takes off
   his skin!!
What a hunk.

It was all elaborate
and people were saying
  "droll".
That's a thing.
Everyone was ******* lame.

Then, the men stripped.
One, Jupiter.
One, Titan.
And what was stopped
was a hurried whisper,
traveling the confines
of the classroom.
  And the men
clothed. And the instruments
  unused.
Sketches ceased before creation.
Paint without purpose.
What a Greek tragedy.
Boo-*******-hoo.

What I could only imagine
a slurry of too many words
aiming at my brain.
The mention of us all.

You don't understand.
*******.

She dragged a steak knife
across her forehead.
I said,
   What the **** is your problem?

The luminosity breaks my cage of crepuscule as the vociferous symphony of the media obstruct the clang of injustice. A thousand eyes glare at Lucifer yet neglect the vision of purity as their hand points with each finger a spindle establishing a cloak made of stigma. The cloak, an item I am now constricted in, is in completion as the gates stance creates a void soaring over me to which I am absorbed - as on the other side lies the devils crooked tune whilst God strums the chords.