Renew the book,
you know, my favourite one.
I absolutely must read it again.

We pull in a slick black beaumont
from 1965,
but the year was 1985,
where we make-out
with the film playing to
our tongue's dance.
I wasn't sure what film it was,
but I know I enjoyed it.

The slurs may have been passed about
so easily from a pair of malicious lips
to another, but ours did not quiver.

She loved me,
and we had so much in common
because we loved what we were;
girls.

Such strength
needn't be brute force
only unleashed on your opponents.

It can be used
to create a sight
of pure elegance.

With a cigarette in hand
and an unreadable face,
I leave my emotions to rust in the rain.

If I do not show any feelings,
I hoped I wouldn't be hurt,
but even then I was ostracized
because they said I was a machine.

The gruesome process
of saving the live of a human
on the brink of death
is challenging.

"What a miracle! I have been saved!"
they would say.

Correct,
you have been saved,
quite luckily.

However, it was no miracle
that saved you;
only concern and skill.

I had never felt
the firm grip of a bow,
the wispy shot of an arrow.

One eye closed in a focused wink,
I targeted the blood-red target,
my fingers pulling the arrow
with unknown precision.

It shot the red eye
the first time,
and it was then I knew
that in my past life,
I was an archer.

When my time comes
and I am to leave this life
for the one beyond,
do not bother letting my body
decay in a casket.
Please, allow me to be buried near the ocean,
and plant a lemon tree
above my heart.

She sits upon the roots
of the wise oak tree.

"Tell me, what must I do?" she asks hopefully.

"I cannot answer your query, for I do not know what you should do,
but I know someone who could help you." the oak responds.

"Well, who?"

"The Universe."

A bridge of wood and rope
above a canyon filled with water
waits to be crossed.

A fathomless pit under you,
a glorious destination across.
Shall you cross,
or shall you stay?

You will only accept my words
if I am on my knees, inferior,
while you stand on your feet, superior,
looking down upon me.

Welcome to the home of a narcissist,
extravagance not unheard of,
especially
when it comes to the mask
of your host.

You speak only words of pessimism,
a clear mind of prosperity
and optimism
unfamiliar to you.

I want to go places,
somewhere,
anywhere else
other than my native land
where my secrets lay buried
in the soil,
for it has seen my best
and my worst.

The perfect distraction
to pull out the lies
of an alibi
is over food and drink.

I shall let this liquor
smite the doubt
kindled in my body.

If you remove a silver sterling blade
from a sheath of thick leather,
you either make an oath
or make a killing.

I'd rather be run through
by the bayonet of a musket,
my body buried in an unmarked grave
and my death holding no meaning,
than stand by your side
only to turn back.

In a group of six men,
only one raises his blade to his heart
pledging loyalty, dedication,
one man.
One man, is that all
I can count on?

Boring!
How dull,
I need something exciting!
Stimulating!
Challenging!
But please,
have mercy,
nothing boring!

you can look at poetry
with a logical eye,
but you would miss
the message
with lack of wisdom.

Free love was a scent in the air
and the psychedelic illusions
of LSD ever present,
the strum of beautiful music
and poetic lyrics,
those were the years,
that was the 70's.

I once knew
an evil being.
His name
was Comparison.
He was shameless,
an unapologetic thief
of joy.

Tenderly,
you said "I love you",
we were to go to Europe
to begin again.

Do you remember
that disastrous plan?
Would you reconsider,
even if it drove us insane?

I miss that love,
so very much,
but do you?

Merely time,
five times that dawn will show itself
before the eve of battle,
and we will succeed
in the completion of God's will.

You and I,
we are seldom of like mind,
but only together
can we conquer this battle.

I am aware of how agonizing
this must be for you, sir,
but the truth is often vexing.
Thus, I will show you only candor
and tell you of the pain that is to come,
if you will listen and admit acceptance.

The violin screeches a sorrowful tune,
the fire bellow puffs on the flames as it crackles
while I hold *** in my hand
to think of the past.

Drink your whiskey till you take your last breath,
for there is no drinkin' after death.
All the wounded men will shout and cry,
amongst all the dead men, let him lie.
May the king live well in his wealth,
and may he bid us forever lasting health.
Drink, drink, drink till you're down,
and may the rightful king wear the crown!

the expectation
was that victory
would taste sweeter.
you shouldn't lament,
for no matter the outcome,
war always tastes bitter.