Whilst I forlorn did appeal to thy aid,
My lay alone held up thy tender grace;
But now my civil verses are decayed,
But my frail spark does yield a place.
I bless, Sweet Swan, sweeter difference
Deserves the labor of a virtuous pen;
Yet what of thee this poet does invent
I steal of thee to pay it back again.
I lent thee honor; robbed such word
From that vessel; beauty too I give
To find it in thy roses which I ill afford,
The praise to you, in you it does live.
So give no thanks for that which I say,
For that loan I made you  do repay.

By virtue of what do the many lions roar
When silence speaks to thee near or far?
To what end could you shut the open door
That let in the light from the nearest star?
I am that creaking hinge which bothers so,
I squeak in the small hours of the night
And wake I the merry wives that know
Something is in the air, all is not right.
You smell of perfume, ***, and death
Wherefore wert thou, O Romeo?
She asks, “Hast thou not answered yet?”
What hides beneath that veil of virtue,
And was it all that you had hoped it'd be?
The candle burns at both ends for thee.

My premiere deduction was, he deceived with each
Word, that cold-hearted viper, with poisonous zeal
Looking sidelong to observe the mechanics of his deed
On my life, and lips that slander scarce fit to conceal
A forked tongue behind fangs no less infamous or real
Than the impish minions which follow Mephistopheles.

What else might he be primed to strike with his cadre?
What, barring to ambush with his lies, or set upon any
Traveler who  may take notice to his presence that day
Upon the deserted road? I gathered what evil cackle
Would uproar, which staff  shall pen my last will,
For entertainment in the arenose, unclean witch's cave.

Within the center of the lonely rill,
A sunset emerges, growing taller 'til
It appears closer to many, as I fill
Another glass, with sands ne'er still.

The night shall yet another day fordo,
But she loves him, and loves him true.
Ah, yet! I, Time, mustn't forget lonely you,
I must add age, and subtract youth

-Yet you will love me, love me true!

I   do  not ofttimes descry such rhymes as thine,

lest I should divest all remembrance

of the inequity of tragedy and aching anxiety,

and thence my wretchedness wouldn't digress in tearshed.


And if my misfortunes can't cleanse my substance

in my weeping, mourning this bittersweet feeling,

then when at my last gasp of breath I'd be distressed

if devoid of the joy that you employ in your poem.

Although in an icy heart,
Thy hate flows
Uncongealed.
I know not what ails thy heart,
But know that Time can heal.
What could bother you so
To start this bold
Pursuit at vengeance taken?
Is it not bigger
Than you know
---This road which you do lengthen?
For when you take the law in your hands,
To take eye for eye...
You force the other to make plans ---
To fully make you blind.

A person with a virtuous soul, whose faultless heart is unchained

from any  corrupt musings  of  excessive pride: one whose soundless

years in safe triumph are lived, whom aims cannot deceive, nor

misery unnerve: that virtuous  soul needs not a shield of steel to

defend, nor keep secret thoughts within. They do not merely stare

thru tearful eyes at the tragedy of this our world's thirst, but rather

they no less than dare to provide what is necessary to end it.

When I was a lad, I loved a song 2 cute
Entitled: Don't Mess With My Toot Toot!

I have traveled these fields for days,
            watching the sun shine in an angels hair and the fall
                    of rain upon her face.

When she smiles I can feel her glow,
                     but where she takes me I don't know.

Because every day it's something new,
                          I sometimes feel so cold and turn so blue

If God would send a sign,
              I could tell if my love for her is just a waste of time,
                            or perhaps it's all a figment of my imaginative mind,
                                 and she doesn't know that I am alive.

Are Professions the opposite of
Confessions? My shrink said perhaps we can deal with this in other sessions.

What is a fession?
I think this a good
Question.

Is it better to be *******
Than it is to be ****** on?

Is it pronounced *** can,
Or as I like to say puh kahn?


After all, I thought a *** can was
Something you would assign
Everyone on a long trip to make
Better time.


Wouldn't it be cool if dinosaurs
Were mammals and had fits
Over which had the tiniest
Arms, but yet had the biggest
                          ****?

T-Rex. Yes, definitely T-Rex.
She would have won contests.


But no, they had none. And Mr. T-
Rex was so ******. Not for this, but
Because he couldn't reach his gun;
U know what I mean, his appendage.

Why do we drive in "parking" lots?
Why do we call them buildings still?
They are built. Alone in my thoughts?
Why do we "park" in driveways? Fill

                                    In
                    ­              Your
                               Answers
                                      If
                ­                      U
                                   Will.

In thine bewildered mind, thou art as peerless as the bluest sky,
For great works of art have yet to transcend thy fairness, thy bliss.
Could thee be sent as thy true love with everlasting tenderness?
Your sole desire should end with me, for it is you on which I rely.

Never again should doubt arise from the depths of thine own mind,
That this could and shall be ours to hold true with great elation.
Art thou not content with what I hath provided without cessation?
Thou art truly stunning by day, by night, being undeniably divine.

Solemn at sundrop, upon the heavy Terrain I mused,
My sour heart was bittering; a heady
Moon I perused.
Peer & whisper Sorrow to you, Moon,
Sigh for sigh gave
I, as vespers weary into dimmet Soon.
Tears upon grass
That wail, Aye! sparkl'd by 
 Dim lit ray: but
Steeped in my way,
I mused on the abject fools
Which so do pass
O'er bleakness. Alas!
One with I claim I!
As she clearly befell,
Nightfall raised her well!

As in the
verses of
Isaiah six,
to me came
a fiery
serpent
bearing
bliss. One
to us
known to
be in the
most high
order of
thy holy
angels;
and she
possesseth
many an
eye and
wilt one
day hath
humankind
beholding
her pent
wingtips,
and she shalt
cleanse thy
unclean lips
and purge
thy sinful souls
with live
burning coals
hereby.

God speaking
without
speaking
once told
to Isaiah,
"I wilt take
all but a
tenth of
their cities,
and the lands
wilt be burned
again and again
until the trees
shall cast their
leaves, and
thereof the
substance
shall be the
holy seed.

Thereafter, her
seraph wings
did thence
open up,
unfold, to
be thereby
a cause, a
love, a flame
to need.

Faith is not
a thing
made up,
and is
hardly
newfangled,
but I saieth
she therewith
displayed it
all; and 'twas
nothing short
of supreme
blessedness!

Then I beheld
her e'en
brighter,
with showy
spangle, and
her attire, a
pristeen
and
impressive
dress, that
was beaming,
lit, bright
with color,
and with
shapeliness
of contour.

Her shining
light like
refractory
gold or
peerless
bits of
silver;
and something
unknown did
glint within
her to
wholly then
bewilder.

Her fire sword
was sheathed
and I did
the most
forward enter.
With shy wing
shield so
still, she
can still
our
meanest
ire, for
all must
therein
endure
what we
feel for
each
and
one
another.

And none
therefore
can
trust
mental
anguish
to dull
in this,
our
loneliest
and darkest
hour.

Therewithal,
loyal
followers,
actions
shall
follow­
words,
ignite
if you
will
the
glowing
candles,
and play
upon your
lyre,
but not
upon
His
Word,
and
forevermore
you wilt
have
your needs
fulfilled
with
hearts
afire;
rest assured.

We shall
hear ye
but not
understand,
the great
forsaking
in the
midst of
the land,
and we
see but
do not
perceive!

Now hear
her pure
emotions
entire
thereat
swear to
inveigle
yet, our
lives so
chaotic,
so
disordered,
but we
can be
rekindled
by a
moving
fire of
an
unstained
object, and
sure enough
hypnotic;
and of a
fervor I
foretell
to be
higher
than all
other
seraphim
in the
ultimate
choristers
choir.

And she does
as e'er sing
the fairest
hymn to
Him, being
gentle and
the most
melodic.
She is a
being
disentangled,
henceforth
being the
nearest
being of
any angel
by far
to the
safety of
God's
hands.

She's an angel
that much
more the
nigher to
His protection
and His
guidance; and
free will I
suspect was
denied her
in all but
her affections...
and for that
reason it
wilt be she
that to me
God sends
again.

And to Him
I heard it
said, Holy,
holy, holy,
is the lord
of hosts:
the whole
earth is
full of
His glory!

And with that,
the Lord shook
again the
doorway
posts, and
the house
that filled
with smoke,
now is
before me
-such as is
our Saviour
surely upon
His throne.

Ne'er say the attempt naught avails,
the toils and the struggles are vain,
the betrayer nay drops nor fails,
and as all has been, all doth remain.

For while the waves that are breaking,
seem to have no aching increase to gain
-long ago, thru brooks & rills making...
comes hushed

--flowing in

The Main.

I walk into class.
I am alone there...
Because I like
To get to places
Early. I wait for
Group to begin.
People start
Rolling in.

We all all say
Hi and Hello
How are you
And you and
You? All is
Well we each
Say out of
Politeness:
But really,
None of
Us are.
That is why
We attend
Group.

Each of us
Are damaged
In some way,
Or just have
A void in our
Lives. We each
Have a diagnosis,
Or two, or so.

So class begins
Late every day
Like clockwork,
And then it
Takes the entire
Session for one
Person to say
A few things
About themselves,
And we have
A few moments
To make comments
If the counselor
Allows any
Opinion but
Her own be
Expressed.

And then it's
Break time
And we all
Smoke our
Chosen
Poison because
It is scientifically
Proven that most
People with say,
Schizophrenia
Or Schizoaffective
Disorder or Bipolar
Disorder, (any type,)
Are addicted to nicotine
Because our nicotinic
Receptors are out of
Whack.

Then it's back to class,
Which starts late again
And another person
Gets a moment to share
Their uncertainty about
Their lives. And I have
To sit there with the
Answer in my head,
Because I am not
Allowed to speak
Anymore. I was
Told one too many
Times by the
Class that I
Make too
Much sense
To be a group
Member, and
Should teach
The class.

The counselors
Always hate
That sort of
Thing. They really
Hate it when you
Psychoanalyze
Them. Group
Is helpful, despite
It's many short-
Comings. Well,
I guess I better
Continue going,
Because I don't
Want to miss
Out on Jack's
Repeated *******'
About how Jill
Won't listen,
Or how Humpty
Can't lose weight
Despite a balanced
Diet. You know the
Type... A Diet Coke
In one hand, and a
Snickers bar in the
Other. We are all        
     UnBaLaNcE
                           d.

Available on Amazon.com for $15 for paperback and  $6 for the Kindle version.

At summertide, when heaven's airy sunn
Rules o'er the sky  -the glorious kingdom.
Why to yonder ridge biases a pensive eye?
It's unlit summit doesn't meld with the sky.
Why do those bluffs of dark cast so appear
Sweeter than this ol' countryside lying near?
Loftiness, it is,  lends magic to all the view,
And cloaks the cliff in its merry golden hue.
Thus, with relish, we do dally on these per se:
Certain joys of Life, guarantees we do survey,
Thus, from far away,  can each uncharted scene
More brightly be seen than all Fear, lest its seen?
And to every image, that Fear daubs in scary dun,
Express it into that Oblivion -shine on Airy Sunn.

Be it so, that the sole, most enchanting of all springs, desires to mingle with my
eldest memories, and all 'neath the shades without shadows all the while; and be it so,
that a dear thing to me was then revived by Mnemosyne, fairest water nymph set here in the Helicon spring, carrying me past my former destiny, to witness the union of my ancestors in that bygone style, unbeknownst to so many, unbeknownst to my other self. Would that I might have seen with your eyes In my earlier years... O let me not so dream!
But ponder the while in this, the election of
your beauties -so much surpassing. I hear such sweet new melodies, ****** songs of the waters tempted naught by the world I
did hereby leave, playing on thru the glorious hours unheeded by the dials, carrying the rhythm which tames my soul's wandering,
gathering my thoughts upon thoughts to beyond others thoughts, granting me, among
careless divisions, a greater knowledge or a faint calm feeling which I do so owe this place.
O, whence I have in mid-air flown above grotto's, as do the fortunate birds of paradise, now level
with mine eye, larger do they seem to mine eye, and more majestic to mine mind they could not be.
O grant me more than a moment to be here half-suspended by the windy current, as a warm bath in
the naked sun of Helicon, and safe as any creature I remember. With such curious whispers does such
curiosity speak to me, where all seems like Heaven, or what of Heaven I imagine. I deem these spirits I see to be as real to my mind as any, and do oft
ponder as an child, meek and mild as was I; and so,
floating upon this stream, go I on further now
into this dream, like the wanderer I have long been.
And the rocky overhead on the hill rises to greater
heights than my flight dares take me momentarily,
though my wings do not tire whilst I soar about the
magnificent scenery in such splendor like an unfurled
tapestry flapping freely. With a steady faith I press
on, yet again, and steal away, to return, return  to
land, landing upon the streamside that speaks to me
with a patient air. Ah! not so was it that I once didst
here lose my way, not even on walks across the plain,
the valleys, or any such sweet, sweet meanderings.
Yet, what unexpected comes? The shade of shadows?
Tempt me not! I exclaim to Sorrow, for long have I
since escaped that chapter in my life, or, do my eyes
merely jest, to see if still I'd want to remember all,
when that which I repressed then so the most in
those dark hours comes forth just as well? I draw
a blank, and so I rest in that shadow dark, arrested,
which renders me unwell, but somehow feels
familiar, or even most comfortable. I wake now,
feeling cold in the darkness, wondering, worrying
with a sinking feeling, as if some mire I had entered
in my sleeping. Wherefore did I take this road, which
made of my progress a mockery? Was it for pity, this
push on to self-destruction? I mustn't deem such an
accident, or argue on that my senseless judgement
played a part. O, where hath passed I! how far must
I travel to return? Just then, a voiceless whisper came
to mine mind, calm as any, to me familiar, though faint did
I upon the ground where I stood, whence I did learn
to what I owed this noble good. My spirit guide arrives
to take me beyond the flood, the flood of ruin that drains
now from the tomb that was for so long my only

— home.

Catkins of a Willow & Birch, whipped
By winds that whistle while in search
Of clouds and thistle to be outstripped
By shouts & bellows to a billow of Earth

Drooping stems, to spread their pollens Amongst their kin by winds that whistle, Whipping them & thistle in the dozens-
Catkins of a Willow & Birch, search Earth

*For their distant cousins.

The Talk To Text feature is stuck on.
Aww CRAP! Come on you piece of junk, stop, Stop, STOP! Aww.. !

Oh, hey Bob. How are you doing today?

I am fine how are you?

Oh, I was fine until my talk to text feature broke. It is recording everything it hears.

Really, Jamie? Let me take a look at it for you.

Oh no you don't, Bob! I am waay better with such things, you broke my last phone, remember?

Well, it couldn't hurt for me to take a look at it...

No.

Really it will be fine...

No.

Duder, it's just a...

No.

Why are you being so hard headed?

Hey, look Bob! I fixed it.

Oh, really?

Yes.

Did you really?

Yes.

Let me see.

No.

Yes.

No, Bob. Go to work.

My work is hell.

Yes Bob. Go there.

I am telling you, I fixed the piece of...

Oh, hey Mom. However is it that you do?

Is something wrong with your phone, Son?

Not anymore, I fixed it.

Well, he says he fixed it. But...

No buts, Bob. Go to work.

Let me see your phone, Son.

No, Mom.

Yes, let me see if I can fix it.

No. I have been working on electronics since I was 8 years old. There's no way you can fix this ****** pho...

I was there within a lil tropic dale,
Marrow of one lil 'ol stealthy vale,
I hearkened of a grand titanic tale
'Midst two Midnighters loud speil.
The spat was pitiless & oh! strong;
Faint 1st was their spoken old song,
Then harsh as each bird had swelled,
To rage the strife away which dwelled.

The warbler led the great speech,
Easeful in a nook of a wide beech;
Perched on a pulchritudinous bough,
About her were burgeons florid now,
Utterly in a downy, substantial hedge,
Intertwisted with buds and new sedge.
Happier she was for having the sprays,
Sing she did for gladness in many ways.

Yet was there an old prong lying beside,
Wherefrom an old owl came and cried;
The branch w/ climbing vine overgrown,
And here this owl sojourned quite alone.
The warbler did after not so long  espied,
And looked upon her w/ confuted pride.
Many were her scoffings 2 the jejune owl,
For to the warbler was she loath'd & fowl.

The owl stayed in her place till eventide,
Not a moment more did she there abide,
So thrived her ***** with flowing wrath
That she could hardly even regain breath;
Say that I grasped thee in my sharp claw,-
Would that I may do so here in this shaw!
And thou wert torn from off your spray,
Then we shall see who sings a nights lay.

And with that... the warbler stole away.
To hang her shingle and head in shame.

I am within my very own season • eternal though soaked • nearing the end • where the sun goes down and down; onwards slowly, solely: but could I catch the summer rays within my hands? "Could I really do so some day? Or am I suspended between the reality and of the fantastic?" Smells of fresh soil neath my nostrils, as aeration is provided by the worms • fat within their cells • and blind without organs of sight. The burning leaves smoky greenish and grey • for the fresh has blended with the faded • and all is sodden anyway -despite the day being a long sunny one. Sodden leaves burn slow, yet smoke with fervorous attempts to glow right before my lachrymal eyes -yet I love, yet I love.Yet I love this second season now known.

I promise you this, lil Cupid, by your quivers, I woe not if the arrow injures, my heart seared, ruined by
such wound: however remote the years soon
to pass or that which came, never a lass by any name could rightly be aware the stain nor such feasting on my hearths flame by gluttonous Love, a heart in chains; and do consider the purity born from martyrdom. That which cures and calms the feeling of agony, to the point it be hardly ever felt, a mere hinting at pain dealt in only the slightest degree. No! That which tortures my one and only spirit and body, just that fear is what truly is the dismay heralding my imminent decease and decay: for my fierce fire may be but the only flame which burns so in this cold and cruel world I tread all alone as it turns, in confused hopefulness I yearn to see you deliver -and impatiently I lie awake at night waiting for her.

A strange cruel eidolon often glides thru my silent room, then slinks away dry and smooth as that daystar punches through my window pane -like daggers of wakefulness to pierce my dreams once more; and layers of consciousness likened to pale dead skin,  to lay bare unwanted awareness of a world too embarrassed to open up that stained and hollow door.

Streaming images on my mind's eye are outstretched,  like the gossamer threads of a silver web, woven taut, near a hypnotic light, to draw the uncanny moth, feeding the ravening host tonight.

Nightly visions driven by restless fantasies most phantasmagorical, scream and shout in palm-muted half-tones  fluttering as the matrix of horrors, divined thru an oracle, haunt that same silver death-bed...  one that reaches out and frightens me like   a shape-shifting ghost, (alight and deplorable.)


Though it's all in my head, it's still     all    too     horrible!

Thy conscience ofttimes estimates
       Itself by itself midst dark logics
             Of the old slate-grey slate of slates.
             I am no creature of "chaotics"
Desiring to pry into dry changeable ways.

Fade slowly into that quietude,
   That lonely but desired emptiness.
Be fainter than faint in solitude;
And accompany Misery at high interest--
A use of usury that leaves many dues.

Now come haunting thoughts of Oblivion,
Not a one canst I undo at all without your
Granting; and I cannot move with any idiom
Anything if you stall to so wish it or implore--
Because it is not mine, nor is it my decision.

I
  can
        barely
                  hear
                         the
                               soft
                                     muted
                                                 patter
                                                          ­  of
                                                                her
                                                                 delicate
                                                        ­                  footfall
                                      ­                                              upon
                                                                ­                          these
                                 ­                                                                s­teep
                                                            ­                                          steps

So undulating shadows fold before glorified Pan,
Below amongst the reeds, the cold river he swam,
Goat hoofs a-thrashing as the lilies of gold ran
Afloat like a boat, boring holes he thus began
Woe made music, thru the reed he did blow; and then
No time to waste upon this date, O the scattered bann!
Go on a-laughing did he thus goad, saying to ev'ry man,
"Know this is the way, O the only way, since gods began,
**! to make sweet music, they could not succeed." And
So thus he used the reed to make a melody, which then
Old Chaos became New Order upon the riverside land.

Float thy thoughts of me upon an electric sea streaming,                
thy warm memories splashing into existence by rippling waves,    
and brought by thought into untouchable being,                                
or else to head for yawning graves.                                                      
Bear in mind the day mayst be coming when all life                          
is but a forgetful dreaming;                                                        ­              
and I wonder if I wilt be alive
in yours upcoming                                
or just a *casualty in the piling wreckage.

I took to rage in a fading moment,
Tho such a bore is not my burden-
No, I will not daresay that the omen
Of the Earth may purge me of any sin
That devilish pride had indulged in.
I have no opportunity to daydream.
Some call it passion-that sea of flames!
It is but the throes of such mad desire.
If I can dream-Oh Lord! I need strength!
Its origin is more sacred-more sacrosanct.

I shall not deem thee fair game, & so retire
From this attack, little birdie on the wire.

Depart, sweet rose -
inform her that hast her hours and me, that somehow she knows, when I compare her to thee, how lovely and darling she seems to be.

Inform her that is young, and shy's to have her sweets espied, that hadst thou sprung in lands where no men abide, thou must have unsung died.

Little is the worth of graces from the sun retired: allow her come forth, allow herself to be desired, and not rise so to be admired.

Then fade - that she the known destiny of all that's rare may see in thee; how tiny a grain of time they share that are so vastly dear and fair!

A lyrist was upon the night brought forth,
Like a brilliant star up above;
And Poetry did thru his brain course
Racing its way to the central hub.

He did see thru good, and too thru ill,
He did perceive thru his lone soul
The curiosity of the eternal will
Which is still an open scroll,

And with tired feet he threaded
The arcane walks of acclaim:
The arrows of his ideas were headed
And with due haste they did flame,

Smoothest lyrics came from his tongue,
And of so passionate a flight,
From one end to the other they'd sung,
Filling all with glorious light.

But the wellspring did dry like bone
Leaving the world with sweepings
For to digest as literature and tome,
Until from the learnéd came weepings;

And floating melodies, the winds bore
Them skyward till they'd ignite;
Then, like Beauty so pure came forth yet another celestial light.

My mind is a vessel o'erflowing with many great ideas.

Aye, couldst those sighs and tears return again into my breast and eyes, which I have spent, that I might in this holy discontent mourn with some pluck'd fruit, for I more than mourn'd in vain;
in mine idolatry, what showers of rain mine eyes did waste! Thus  true? What griefs my heart did rent! That sufferance was my sin; now I repent; 'cause I did suffer ev'ry pain -and much melancholy. That vaporous drunkard, and night wandering thief, the scaly ***** and the self-aggrandizing beasts have the remembrance of past glee's, for relief of coming ills. Tho poor me is allow'd no ease; for, long, yet vehement grief e'er o'erfills, and awes -this hath been as it hath been the effect and cause, the punishment and sin.


But oh! my black soul! now art thou summoned by sickness, (deaths herald,) and champion; thou art like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done treason, and durst not to turn to whence he is fled; or himself a thief, which 'til  Death's doom be read, the guilty wisheth himself delivered from prison, but ****** and haled execution, (with Hell to wed,) wisheth that still he might be imprisoned. Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack: but who shall give thee that grace to begin?
Ah, make thy self with holy mourning black, and red with blushing, as thou art with sin; or wash thee with Christ's  blood,  which hath this might being red, it dyes red souls to white.


Tho if poisonous minerals, and if that tree whose fruit threw mortality on else immortal us, if lecherous apple worms —serpents envious—cannot be ******, alas, why should I be? why should intent or reason, born in me, make sins, (else equal,)  in me more heinous?  and Mercy being easy, and glorious to God; in His stern wrath, why threatens He?
But who am I, that dare dispute with thee O God? Oh! of thine only worthy blood, and my tears make a heavenly Lethean flood, and drown in it
my sin's black memory; that thou remember them, some claim as debt, I think it Mercy, if thou wilt forget.

I walk out into the good 'ol twilight,
Afraid of nary a scary thing bright:
But my silhouette's greater height,
That, that makes me begin wonder,
As I shudder cold in the frigid night;
And throw my dim echoes well in sight
Of my widened wandering eyes tonight;
And now I shall box my shadow asunder.

The winter of 1885 was inhospitable and   u
                                                              ­                     n
                                                               ­                  r
                                                               ­                     e
                                          ­                                             f
                                                               ­                             i
                                  ­                                                        n
                                                               ­                           e
                                                               ­                      d
                                                           ­                    e    
                                                           ­                 i      
..and in the blah unihabitated lands I  d

                                                           ­             
  ....with only God The Father by my s
                                                               ­       i
                                                        ­                 d
                                                               ­              e
                                                           ­             m
                                                  ­                    i
......And now I reside in the midst of T
              
                                                                ­            
  ...my poetical device in a brilliant r
                                                               ­     h
                                                          ­             y
                                                               ­            m
                                                               ­                e              
                                             ­                            n
                                                               ­      i    
      ....is soon to be realized line by l

I stand upon a scraper of the skies;
Try to overcome a fear of heights...
Born within me; irrational perhaps:
But I wasn't born with wings or *****,
So I don't think it so irrational a fear.
Yet, I stand at the edge way up here
To overcome the fear in question...

I fell. I always said I'd make a
                            good

                  **IMPRESSI­ON

Do detest somber concepts brought forth by parturition to the thoughts you cannot otherwise declare untrue in the dark hour that is trapping you,
sealing you
in. Do not enter thy darkened
grave, for isolation amongst
those horribly innate constructs breeds involuntary cries
for days -brought on
by
perusal within. Do not encounter some cold cell, where creeping doom stalks and that black dog walks; there under stained obscene appearances,"unreal;"
and where low bred
mouths are speaking
falsely in lightless
arid lands so stale. But rather let the rejoicing wind that purifies
The dawn give lift to your courageously
resolute wing.
This is what it means
                     to belong
with one Self
to maintain.

Word that means important AND can
Be broken down into 4 words which
Are important instructions to one's
  attorney

But it doesn't make you right any more than belonging to a nation makes you a Veteran!

My Dying Love ne'er betrayed my faith,
but speak to me in whispers .......quaint
did she; hung her head as if to saith,
I love you so, but by dear love, I faint;
faint for thee, Love, forever, and a day...
could ne'er be complete, but for pains;
A pain we two feel when we together lay.
In the hearts of glee; in the eyes of saints;
giving all that was taken back in spades!
Black as pitch was my heart upon that day,
but ivory white was she -without a ******
in mine eye: but Death took her anyway;
to my surprise, she smiled -I was dismayed
as she rode into the shadows with Hades.
I saw my Persephone, she was saved; saved
for thee -the god of Death -and by six seeds!
six months she spent with me, butthey've
withered mine heart as have my griefs.

"The paradox of a brilliant theory is that, while the fool in us will wisely find it too challenging, the wise in us will challenge it too foolishly."