My dear friend,

There's no answer in those bottles
Or those false bravados
There's truth in cliche mottos
But those answers are hollow
Unlike those pills you swallow
Because you're chronically suicidal
With no contrary to guide you
And no lover to confide to
So you'll just cram it all in a note in the hotel room they find you
Now you're only living through all the strangers you were kind to
The family that stood beside you
The hell you dragged their mind through
The lovers you had lied to
The crafts that you had fine tuned
The dark past behind you
And whatever state your mind looms now

I have the honor to be your obedient servant,
M. Whit

ignore yesterday's rain
let it stay behind
for today is anew
tomorrow isn't promised
so live in the moment
enjoy making it last
there 's nothing to do
about the past
but learn from it

Kissing you is like kissing unicorn horns
It would never happen

The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls;

and leave you, not at home in either one,
not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses,
not calling to eternity with the passion of what becomes
a star each night, and rises;

and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel)
your life, with its immensity and fear,
so that, now bounded, now immeasurable,
it is alternately stone in you and star.

A little man sat by my bed
As I lay there full of dread
I said "Do you ever sleep?"
The sight of him just made me weep

He lifted up his little cap
Then asked me what I thought of that
I said "Why don't you go away
And not come back another day"

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

Something at twilight's silent time I heard this spring:
Finally the nightingale has returned this spring!

Last spring was a roller-coaster of love and hate,
I hope that that ride will not be concerned this spring.

Lovers melt the cage of the winter with dances,
I ask, who will be loved, who will be burned this spring?

The roses on cheeks and the roses in gardens,
Again slowly to crimoisy they turned this spring.

'O winter come, summer go! Spring come, autumn go!'
Said Gihon; for all kinds of things he yearned, this spring!