Take heed of this small child of earth;
He is great; he hath in him God most high.
Children before their fleshly birth
Are lights alive in the blue sky.

In our light bitter world of wrong
They come; God gives us them awhile.
His speech is in their stammering tongue,
And his forgiveness in their smile.

Their sweet light rests upon our eyes.
Alas! their right to joy is plain.
If they are hungry Paradise
Weeps, and, if cold, Heaven thrills with pain.

The want that saps their sinless flower
Speaks judgment on sin's ministers.
Man holds an angel in his power.
Ah! deep in Heaven what thunder stirs,

When God seeks out these tender things
Whom in the shadow where we sleep
He sends us clothed about with wings,
And finds them ragged babes that weep!

Down with The Mighty, and their wrathful Might,
For their oppression offended my agency and my Mind.
Their Stalwart example made me, myself examine
and my soul search for its premature undoing.
Though, alas, The imperfection was never there.
And my ailments weren't actually Existing,
No matter how much they were pointed out to me by the Mighty.
Their might could not make Famine magically appear
Or make the the Sea of thought turn red as blood,
Nor could they, My first born perceptions ******.

Therefore, hence forth and never more will my eyes exalt,
nor my words uplift the prideful, lest my ears prioritize
Their unrighteous judgment, I will absolve them of their mantle
And their power over me will be blasted.

Down with The Mighty, and their wrathful Might.

Or, in other words my Thoughts are to inferior for you,
You who proudly takes the Teachers seal upon you,
and swears non judgement, you who taught me Poetry was
something to be loved, crated, and cherished no matter the subject or the look. Such are arbitrary to my message I attempt to convey,
and the feelings I try to display.
You don't like what I write?
I, frankly, Don't like you.

I've Rolled with the punches, fallen at the kicks,
exalted with the stabbing, beaten with a stick.
I've flown above the clouds, and saw the pretty blue,
felt the need to love, and knew the way to lose
ALL IN ALL, It Was A Very Good Year

I Love Rock n'Roll
But I'm to brilliant for your drugs,
Your alchohol
Your ***
All of which are so fleeting, leaving
with my soul, leaving only my conscious
To know I am no longer there

To Think and Ponder every face
that's frowned, and to feel their
anguish and sorrow. That I might taste
of their wounded souls and Empathy in me abound.
I ask why must the lonely
be lonesome, and their hearts be
made cold, e'en though they may act lively,
They dance, but, hear no sound.
And why must they be conscious of
their "plainness"? For surely everybody feels
that doubt. Their Brains think of love
as something to lose, and never again be found.
~I resolve, feeling is Better than not feeling
Therefore, Tis better to possess a heart without sealing.