I had presumed that I was to birth a boy,
but my babe had been a girl.

She had grown to be strong, to be wise,
but she had told me once,

'This vessel is not mine,'

and I had really, as presumed, birthed a boy.

It would be such a tasteful tale
to be ostentatious in their eyes,
to choose what side of me
they see.

It's so garish,
but so, so conspicuous;
it's absurd, it's futile
to try and hide it.

What a legend it would be,
to be anything but me;
what a fable it would be
to live life perfectly.

Why are my foibles so seen,
where has my integrity been?
This can't be fair, can it?
Why can't I live perfectly?

you drink the liquor
as if the more it flushes your cheeks
and widens your grin
and tears you up
will bring you luck.

The struggle
of having someone
love you one moment, and the next
they cut your heartstrings
and leave you to die.

I knew a girl,
Annie,
she lived by the countryside
away from the busy bustle
and loud stirrings of an engine.
Somewhere in which
she could appreciate birdsong.
She had a pond,
one that I visited often.
Unlike the reflection
one sees in puddles,
the pond held a hint of joy
in its still water.

You told me
you would never forget
as you took the train
and you left,
but you forgot
that promise too,
not a lot
but still untrue.

they say
  insanity is repeating the same action,
    not knowing right from wrong,
      and expecting a different outcome.

        maybe that's why I think, every night,
          that it won't be like the others,
            that my eyes will close,
              and I will be engulfed in slumber.

                 alas, it never happens,
                   no matter how many times I try.
                     am I insane, then?
                       is this a lie?

Go to sleep,
enter your world
full of dreams,
and soon you'll see
the sun rising above
the beech tree.

To be a poet is to be a sage,
it is to know sorrow;
they were scathed in battle
and their skull is not hollow-

To be a poet is to be wise,
to know true agony;
to have clear, knowing eyes
after years of tragedy.

Rain, rain, go away,
don't bother coming again on another day!
For I have no umbrella to protect me
from the crystalline drops that fall from the sky
and chill me to the bone.

Rain, rain, please do go away,
don't return until I say!
I shall alert you, I suppose
but as I said,
I have not an umbrella to keep me safe!

I've spent about,
I don't know,
some centries or so
contemplating my death
prepared, not scared.

'Thou art tardy,' said I.

'I belongeth not to you, and now I must brave the sea,'

'I shan't let you, no! You speak balderdash!'

'You doth protest too much, I should have been long gone minutes since,'

'This is punitive!'

'Goodbye, may good fortune tend thy days.' said my lady.

I am guided by darkness
for I have been blinded
by love
like it was a bright,
white light.

Enigmatic, the epitome of charisma!
You speak elegantly, your intellect vast; you are eloquent- although petulant, sometimes morose!

She would go to the railroad,
every day,
waiting for him.

She waited for the whistle of the train,
the rattling of the tracks,
anything that would alert her.

But, alas, it never came.

The iron railroad was a thief, she thought bitterly.
She grew old, alone,
still waiting for her husband.

She received a letter,
and stained it with tears,
just as the iron railroad
had stained her soul.

"I will meet you in the afterlife, my love."

Your scent,
it smells like blood.
Your skin,
it tastes of blood.
Your chapped lips,
they seethe blood.
I love it,
but does that mean
that I am bloodlust?

when you were used to loneliness,
he was right behind you,
a winged man who caught you.

O, golden chariot!
Look upon the geldings,
hear the locusts chirp in late evening;
O, golden chariot,
take me away!

ladies and gentlemen,
let us sing together now
as though we were an acapella.

The café smelled of scones and coffee,
to wake up and smell the coffee,
ah, yes.

The record player always played classics,
the occasional static of an especially old vinyl
bringing a smile to my face.

The orange café, just quaint and small,
but you could still see the sunrise,
the sunset,
and everything in between.

It was, most definitely, the place to be.
I guarantee.

What I did was unvoluntary,
my soul was unconscious
I couldn't help it ;
I was simply autonomic.

A chaste thing it is,
to stare at your reflection
as you decorate your face,
watching the transition.

Don't you snicker,
you really shouldn't laugh.
I'll build an empire
from just a measley craft.
I'll have an army,
I'll rule,
and I can assure
that when I sit
on the velvet throne
this kingdom will be pure.

I'm bored ; such a dull, predictable routine.
I need change, a thrill, excitement!
Let's jump the fence,
let's see if the grass is greener
on the other side
and engage in more adventure
than ever before!

Her eyes darted back and forth, from wall to wall,
in a room fogged with darkness.
Like a pendulum that wouldn’t cease to swing,
her heart beating like the ticking of a clock.
She remain idle.
Ebony skin, tainted,
by tears.
Where did this come from?
How curious, she thought.
She knew not from where the feeling stemmed,
but it lay deep within her, coursing through her veins.
Isolation.
The iris’ of her eyes, still swinging like brass pendulums,
Soon disappeared behind tired eyelids.
Drifting into sleep,
where isolation would be no more.

A fire set amid the willows; O, they burn!
Father Sky, he cries;
Rain cannot put out the flames!
Can you fathom the forest in flames? Nor can I!
But still I cry, He still cries.

Insatiable is your thirst,
it cannot be quenched, no sir!
You are so avid, your zeal is,
with all candor and honest amity,
exhausting.

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

How cathartic it is when tension is suddenly lithe;
I had cried ile for far too long.

your pupils, dilated
your iris', fluorescent
full of desire and
show me how enamoured you are.

i'm tired;
the creaking of the wooden stairs of my old bungalow home
reminds me of how my back weeps
when it is reminded of the heavy weight on my shoulders.
i'm tired;
the melancholic music that plays
as i try to force myself to sleep
reminds me of my lonesome circumstances,
and i can't help but wonder what it would feel like
to sleep forever?
one try;
i'm tired;
goodnight, forevermore.

Nobility,
they aspire to bathe in molten gold.
But what a pity,
they know not how to read the books of old.

Wrapped in chains of silver
a bind to their wealth.
Alas, they underestimate copper
and care not for good health.

My bare feet lie in the stream,
heels sinking into wet soil;
I read the stars, watch the messages told in constellations,
the poetic and epic story told within the clouds,
in the sky,
a quest of emotion, of sorrow, of joy
all without moving.

You sauntered up the shore,
onto the cliff- did you jump?
No, no, you were pushed; your mentality challenged?
We couldn't be sure.
You were pushed, he pushed you; Death.
The fall, was it delightfully terrifying?
It's not the fall that kills you- it's the landing.

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!

I was running through a bright forest of verdant herbs and prickly, proud pines that seemed taller than the brilliantly blue sky.

I gradually  slowed down, admiring the flourishing and crippling plants alike, like the crunchy copper leaves that happily drifted through the wind.

Tree trunks like rusting brass, flowers with lustrous, glossy petals from the utterly impeccable rain drops that fell oh, so elegantly from the Heavens.

“But alas, Heaven is here!” I exclaimed dreamily; the beautiful birdsong that echoed so subtly, but with such a strong and majestic manner, was pure perfection.    

The amicable squirrels that hurriedly scurried across the lengthy branches that created lovely bridges, where creatures big and small would gather in harmony.

This was Autumn in Heaven.

The sun rose above the city,
but the air was dense, heavy,
frozen.
Every movement, a click of boots
a scurry of squirrels
was amplified by the barren cold.
Raindrops from the previous night
fall down the lampposts
on the verge of freezing like tears,
stuck in time.

I stop for water at the sight of the creek;
it is night, she had bid me goodnight
and in turn I made an oath,
I shall return- wisps of light
from fireflies, they cannot compare
to the white effulgence
of the man in the moon.

Autumn;
cinnamon and the metallic scent of iron, almost ******;
leaves dipped in copper, wet bark;
when was it, when it came to be?

So decadent, such wanton!
Humanity cannot be trusted, not now;
it has begun, the deterioration,
so frivolous, such caprice!
So recklessly extravagant, and for what?
Humans, so promiscuous.

You lie upon a surgeon's table,
where masterpieces are crafted,
where changes are made.

Your vision is blurry with tears
as the surgeon, he asks
"What shall I change for you?"
and you blink the stinging out of your eyes,
as you croak solemly,
"Everything."

The tears free fall
like a waterfall,
or perhaps a broken faucet;
look, it's a tree! A walnut tree!

Well, it's rather stunning, no?
Your feeble attempt at pulchritude is admirable,
I suppose,
I congratulate you on your effort-

But why,
answer me,
why does carnal turn to carnage
with you?

You bear fruit, ripe;
seeds float through the being of wind!
Write to the sky, the sky! - With the feather of a dove.

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

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