In the dark typhoon, swayed a dark dark house.
In the dark monsoon, flew the dark dark mouse.
Below dark dark clouds, people scream and shout,
And by the 12th hour, noon, is when the Sun comes out.

In the light, you see rubble, and the people all dead.
On a tree that had fallen, lies a small mouse head.
Through the wind left behind, you hear what the house said
As its boards were all torn from beneath its beds.

You hear the creaking and wailing of nails, screws, and springs
Which escape from their places, among other things.
They escape through the windows, and break their panes too,
And as the whistling fell silent,
All left now,
Is you.

It is human nature to worship.
They go to their games,
As some do their churches.
They scream, the cheer,
They weep in both joy
And disappointment.
Who is their god?

It is human nature to feel.
They react to others,
As some do none.
They sneer, the smile,
They pray for both the rise
And the downfall.
Are their minds closed?

It is human nature to decide.
They experience life,
As some do not.
They see, they hear,
They determine both good
And evil.
Do they think they have the right?

It is human nature to sloth.
They move mindlessly,
As some just sit.
They worship, they feel,
They decide.
They need problems to function
And revelations of solution
Drive them.

If it’s so easy for humans to give up,
Why is it that when the easiest option is death,
They refuse?
Why is it impossible for humans to die,
Even by their own hands,
Without a fight?
What makes the spirit of a human
Indomitable?

That’s easy, isn’t it?
It’s human nature.

Eyes full of stars,
But not the good kind.
These ones shine with scorching heat.
Eyes full of space,
But not the good kind.
These ones threaten vastness sweep.
I see the moon.
I see the Earth.
In these eyes I see the birth
Of every star,
On every plane,
And see that it is all the same.
Now I’m lost
Within those eyes,
And so I find
The end of time.
The lights, they hurt
I try to rest
And at the end of space infests-
Those eyes…
Mine…

You don’t know?
Are you yet to hear?
The endless well of entertainment,
The Court Jester,
The explorer of the end
Of your limits,
Never breaks, nor is broken.

He gives distraction to the weak,
And to those who lack will,
He grants strength.
Still, he knows well
The fragility of the strong.

Humor not The Jester,
And even the king shall find himself
In pieces,
And the nobles shall
Seamlessly crumble.

But they who humor The Jester
Shall mend their cracks.
They shall mount up upon legs like man before them,
They shall run and not weary,
They shall walk and not faint,
And The Jester shall lose his own balance.

Not that it’s of our concern.

I wish I didn't know so much.
Looking at these pieces,
I learn so much
About a friend
I have no place to know
Anything about.

I love their simple drawings.
Their flatness,
How cute they are,
Even the mistakes that
I find so
Incredibly
Annoying.
They let me know how normal
My friend is.

I hate their drawings
That, on the surface,
Look like chaos.
I learn about how they see themselves.
I learn of their fears and worries.
I learn, all because I know.
They let me know how sad
My friend is.

I wish I didn’t know so much.
Looking at these pieces,
I learn so much
About myself.
I can’t bring myself
To say anything.

I love my friend.
Their distance,
How cute they are,
Even their flaws that
I find so
Oddly
Appealing.
They just don’t know
How special they are.

I wish I could say
I hate myself.
I may be chaos,
But in my eyes,
I’m so simple.
I learn of my fears and worries,
Yet, I feel I know nothing.
I’m not sad,
I just want to make them laugh.

The frogs of the forest
Are seldom silent.

Their croaking resonates,
Moving the air like liquid.

Other animals are forced
To listen to the tiny tyrants.

One of the frogs hesitates
Before saying,

The frogs of the forest
Are seldom silent.

Pet sitter from Saturn
Notices the pattern
Of floating rocks
Round kitty socks
And counts them as they go-

In twilight’s hush the sitter comes
With gentle hands, she greets the hum
Of furry hearts, once bright and bold,
Now singing softly stories told.

Interstellar, deep, where memories cling,
She feels the pulse of everything.
A wagging tail, a purring sigh,
The warmth of love as moments fly.

But time, that thief, it creeps and steals.
Now all that’s left are tender feels.
The blankets kneaded and graveyard heeded
And the sitter is left defeated
In the ash of the life she now chided.