Gangling ghosts cause trouble inside
this meaty microwave--
I am on these streets and don't know
how I got here.
I'm carrying 2% milk, in my left hand,
and a carton of extra-large eggs in my right--
I drop the jug and it bursts. I joke about how
I still have 2%, but no one laughs because
no one has ever really been around to hear me.
So, I'm scrambling eggs and wishing I had that
milk because who doesn't like voluminous eggs.
I stop whisking and ask who is there.
Why am I afraid of you, Why am I afraid of you
the raw scrambled eggs on the floor, touched by
ceramic seashells.
And it's you.
You are the Lord, a naked lover, that absence
caused by my auto-pilot parents
Forever,
right here.

to err is Human
to forgive, Divine.

To all of you poets
down South and up North
West and to the East
whoever you are
whatever your beliefs
I wish you much joy
happiness and peace
for on this one night
at least think no more
of spite, anger and war
sickness, sorrow or grief
for wherever you are
may kindness be the star
that lights all of our ways.

You're not going to always get the perfect things
And you're not always going to feel the best
But to me you will be just right
And if you're wrong I will explain and teach you better;
You're not going to like me for it,
Sometimes we will be enemies instead of best friends
And it will be a sad time when you keep secrets from me
But I will try to be tolerant and excuse you,
Remembering myself at your age.
Know that the hardest thing is not letting go of someone, but keeping a hold of yourself whilst you have them;
Know that music is merely an escape into a bunch of emotions we apply to reality and not the other way round;
Know that your actions must be sincere and noble no matter what and you will be okay.
I love you.

I keep looking for a song to define the moment,
                 But the sound of your name fits every occasion

Ozymandias was a conqueror, a man that lay low kingdoms,
and yet is now a pillar of dust.

This, dust beneath us, is all that shall remain.

Love is all that we have of ourselves,
the only thing worth giving,
   or taking,
which stands the test of time.

These times strike monied worldlings with dismay:
Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
With words of apprehension and despair:
While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
Men unto whom sufficient for the day
And minds not stinted or untilled are given,
Sound, healthy, children of the God of heaven,
Are cheerful as the rising sun in May.
What do we gather hence but firmer faith
That every gift of noble origin
Is breathed upon by Hope’s perpetual breath;
That virtue and the faculties within
Are vital,—and that riches are akin
To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?