Open your mind to wonder.
Don't close it with belief.
For the spell it puts you under makes it difficult to leave.

The road to self deception, paved with preconceived conception, makes an evolutionary blunder that much harder to believe.

But in the natural ways we suffer and the things we have achieved, I don't think we should be misplaced -- mistaking all things as perceived.

And the self-redeeming peace that lives in uttered pleas for buttered ease -- like praying for forgiveness for the feeling of appease.
Or kneeling-bound to beg facedown for children with a sickness.
(Although prayer doesn't prove to cure disease or wickedness, it seems.)  

So if you ever get a chance to wander and start to see the world with wonder, don't let it slip into neglect.

Nor impose upon another what you chose when you were younger.
Don't abuse your self-respect.

Instead, just seek to be free
and find the wonder in-between.

I hate when I’m trying to be handsome,
and a more handsome man stands next to me and handsomes harder than I can.

''Surely you can handsome somewhere else,'' I say in a handsome passion, to the man dressed in ridiculously good fashion.

But he just stands there, handsoming harder than I could dare.
Even if I were wearing some Prada underwear.

So I turn up my nose and ''hmmph'' out aloud,
then handsome off to a less handsomeable crowd.

''Oh, what a success I've found,'' I say in a handsome murmer,
before handsoming away to be handsome further.

When I give you my time, I'm giving you a portion of my life that I will never get back so don't waste it.

Don't, when I give you my life, waste a portion of I. I'm giving you back my time so that it will never get waste.

I don't expect to understand
I don't like expectation
I understand I don't expect to get such information.

In explosive light and fire
The shadows danced around her smile.
But I fashioned crutches with my power;
Left crutch-marks in the lonely sand.
And miles grew between our hands.

I fell down in my quiet place
And worked the garden every hour.
But couldn't grow a single thing
No birds sang or sheltered in my land:
Just miles grew between our hands.

I hate you and the way you ruin people that love you and how well you lie without blinking and I hate how miserably you fail at trying and the way you try but trying isn't changing unless you change what you've been trying to change and you're just no good at trying only good at hating and breaking beautiful things and taking things that make you want to just ******* take your life and break it by tearing out the seams of this waking curse of a dream inside the nightmare where you belong in an un-followed hearse lovingly dead to the ongoing muttering of persons who hated you and to whom you must have hated too you stupid fool how we hate what you do and who you are and I hate that you are dying and untruthful and I hate what you did and what you didn't do and I hate that you spread hatred and dam sweet rivers and leave trails of love in broken pieces but the happy people don't mind it and tell you to forgive yourself with big sloppy smiles and don't see the dark clouds inside you and you hate them all too don't you yes each slop-filled one of them and I have a feeling that you hate my writing this down for people to see but not as much as I hate that you're me.

Be still and watch the golden sun's
late fire drape the snowy frost.

In loving embers stirring low
that light the heart of tender dusk.

In snowy arms we walk back home
and feel a warmth that's never lost.