It's just a sandbox of reality,
a temporary timeshare, ours for now.
So what if, by some staggering degree,
we've simply let it go awry somehow,
and left the land in tears,
ignoring all the knowledge that we did
acquire through the years
to shuffle on, bemused by life, amid
the Ev'rests of destruction that we leave?
Yea, better that we humans all were rid,
to gift her with the time she needs to grieve
and banish all her fears.

This self-destruction is, you must agree,
a crueler tribute than we can allow.
She's just a sandbox of reality,
a temporary timeshare,

ours -

for now.

You forged a map
  whilst quite unaware
    that he was in want of direction,
      and though he was lost
        and close to despair,
he mustered his will and he made a connection.

You spoke of an age
  from aeons ago;
    a harmony sweet to his ears.
      Though sep'rate by worlds,
        you drew him in slow
and extinguished his nerves and his bleakest of fears.

You opened yourself up
  to him like a rose,
    when discord and tension were rife,
      and gifted him naifly
        with welcome repose
when you entered his otherwise workaday life.

You flooded his thoughts,
  a tempestuous storm,
    your tales of love as his guide,
      and whilst he took your lead
        and began to transform,
he learned to catch starlight with you by his side.

And how can he thank you
  for touching him so,
    when he still barely knows who he is?
      The best he can do
        is to write you a verse -
a mainline direct to your heart, from his.

i can
never
sleep...
or
maybe i'm
never
in truth
awake

As Billy Joel is pouring out to the listener,
Of a tale of patrons in a bar,
I think of what would happen to my works when I die.
Maybe I get a couple collections printed but they never really sell,
And years after my death,
One such book is found in the piles of books in an antique store.

Maybe it's a curious individual,
Amused by the art embossed on the book,
Or maybe he is an actual fan of poetry.
Maybe it's just a kid who is thinking old books are cool.

Either way the individual would read my works, gets a whole lot of hubub about it,
And years after my death I am talked about as an unsung poet of my time.

Novel idea right?

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