On that shore I sat melancholy and sad.
Thinking about what the wave had taken away,
About what it might bring and what I had.

Sudden emotion rushed like wind.
Overhead that moon lit lantern,
Translating my message to send.

Oh, what a shame to try
To bring you here by my side.
In meaning, over this ocean perhaps you could fly.

To my lonely abiding shore
and sing songs of magic together
a fantasy sheathed in lore.

But now the ink runs low
and the winds of my heart move slow
what I have left had been taken by that ocean wave flow.

If I could send
a slice of my soul etched
with this feather pen,

Perhaps I could meet
this angel I seek.
Siting in reality alone, cold and bleak.

Think less, Feel more.
Frown less, Smile more.
Talk less, Do more.
Complain less, Appreciate more.
Fear less, Love more.

Something
cold is in the air,
an aura of ice
and phlegm.
All day I've built
a lifetime and now
the sun sinks to
undo it.
The horizon bleeds
and ***** its thumb.
The little red thumb
goes out of sight.
And I wonder about
this lifetime with myself,
this dream I'm living.
I could eat the sky
like an apple
but I'd rather
ask the first star:
why am I here?
why do I live in this house?
who's responsible?
eh?

Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.

Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.

And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.

If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest

Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.

Moral:

Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour,
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair,
E'en from a fading flower