Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We ****** to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

I may be just another star in your sky
But the thing about stars
Is each one shines bright

Water
under
the bridge,

rolling
and tumbling,

kissing
the river's
edge.

Trees
bend
in the breeze.

The
lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars.

His *****
strikes
the earth,

overturning
a crawler's
night lunch.

A bottle
of ***
shared
by two

who steer
clear
of the fire's
orangey
fingers.

Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the night's
sky.

You say "Freedom of speech" is to destroy the mold,
Yet you turn against an adolescent boy,
Immature, ignorant, only sixteen summers old.

Expressing his confusion, and burning resentment,
With words that scald, expressions that scream,
Opinions that spar with the voice of societal assent.

Instantly in seconds, the barrel of Justice and Laws,
Is directed between the eyes of the wretched,
The fury of the people, cold as the bullet only he saw.

Nary a scream we heard as the trigger,
Blasts off into oblivion, blowing out,
Chunks of creativity and blood of passion.

*"You shouldn't have said that,
It's wrong what you said,
Think twice before you pen, speak with caution."

My heart is like a rose,
So red, so true,
Yet bounded by thorns,
That scar and mar.

Blue veins scream out,
For sweet release,
Don't think, don't doubt,
Ignore them and cease.

The blood within,
It screams, it writhes,
Longing to be free, to rise, to sin,
Against purple veins and arteries it vies.