A deep well doesn't sit well.
I reap hell, wasn't it hell?
Drowning in that well
Frowning in that hell.

Tears lick my lips,
Years wick my ships,
Sounding off quips,
tongue cracking whips.

Scars on my face,
with killers my place,
slayers of all traces,
of prayers and graces.

Out at sea, lost at sea,
feet six feet deep,
sounding off a plea,
as I fix a final leap.

On the mast, fire below,
make it last, last bellow
shout it loud, gone, that cloud,
that liar, hopeful desire.

Is it any wonder that I sit and ponder
Upon a pond holding no answer; faith sacked,
my soul asunder, by my greatest blunder:
what I see in the mirror, my fear of her.

That crystal water, from which I slip and falter
upon viewing its sewing of my image,
does haunt me with its gaunt plumage;
beautiful, and disturbed by reeds of punishment.

Sticks of which I cannot switch off
mar the stitch I wish to bewitch,
with the twitch of my wrist,
upon her ears, turn her to tears.

But these words are for cowards,
better suited to please a cow herd
than deep rooted damsels, solid footed
with good counsel; I deserve only a morsel.

Yet I get not that, but only this cat
to sit at my foot and howl and hoot.
In the end we are great friends, wound mends,
and like my dreams he'll die within my seams.

Family and friends are pleasant to thee,
as we pretend to care about the Christmas tree,
yet all we want is each others company,
the most wondrous present, love, is free.

But is it free? For must not every leaf
change up their color, look for reprieve,
amongst the clutter of the calling freeze:
Those times alone, where we do as we please.

And once achieved, so do we believe,
that better off we be amongst the leaves
still upon the tree. But now we've fallen
upon hard pack, victims of freeze come calling.

Buy a new toy, hatch a few ploys,
and don't be coy, when you feel joy,
for end will sting, and will not bring,
any shining, light on your wings,
unless you allow
it's rightful bellow.

What face will I wear today?
What place will I dare to stay?
Too long have I stood and stared
At questions and despaired.

What answers will be got today?
What prayers will be thought today?
Too short are the words in both
And too little is their worth.

What game will time play today?
What shame will lies say today?
Too similar is their hurt
When I lose for being curt.

What length will I travel today?
What strength will I have null today?
Too weak are my bare footprints
Where they tread with sordid hints.

I'll never know
Whatever show
I'm meant to play;
Knee bent, I pray.

The more I pour out of my heart,
The easier it seems to start,
To lift into the air,
and drift like a flare.

It's loftiness never lasts long,
It's tied and pressed to points too wrong,
To go carry on,
and sing like a swan.

Like dead feather in fair weather,
I can never now tell whether,
it will come or go,
and meet friend or foe.

For is it that which flies,
or is it that which dies,
that hurts my heart,
starts its depart.

What clear and crisp ship courts do lay tied tongue
Upon the sea of love laws and proverb,
On masts of woe and rot full wood, there flung
Atop acorn littered deck dressed in cob.

A single sailor dare not tread on such,
for one fair slip on round seed will firm plant
an *** of him, and grow a **** at launch,
only to break deck's strength, web wove too scant.

Water calls home that where it finds itself,
sticking in nook and cranny, hid in peace,
and aid it sails down to plants in wealth,
set out to sea in boats begot on lease.

Revocation come calling in wave form;
wake of spiders, with webs of fate they swarm.