It's my last day here
Thank you very much all
You're all too great and dear
Please don't let your pen fall

My pen wouldn't work, the ink is dry
I shall cope for sometime
As might as well use another, a try
But not today, maybe some other time

A passion of writing is what I adore
Reading and imagining your writes
I would have written some more
But the ink won't glow any bright

I will see, what I can do
My pen says a goodbye
Besides missing all of you
Don't worry, all this is a lie...


©sim

In tired spirals we graph our days
In colored stains we speak our shaky hands
Rubbing white shirts on the chalk board to
make tie dye tees

Two sets of teeth licking molars
smelling their breath over
half smoked
cigarettes

The feeling of being caught in the rain
with nowhere
to go

I once saw a field so green it could be an aphid
I once saw a sky so blue it could be a puddle
ink stains sit and blur and muddle
together again

Words pressed out of a pomegranite
it could be any
but they turned out to be
yours

For this day lay sudden undeathly amongst much life ' love. That if us too beloved bards be as one upon this plane, what greatness hast been to humanity. Shakespeare O Shakespeare, here wilt this life bear our sweetest love? With the spirit of troves hereby truity, what would be of thy rave. I thank thee for such guidance in these arts, more so bestow by whom speakth by the frequencies of the frame. These verses etch'd in stone mayst grind this Earth with goodness. For that even in future, man is evil and his content is low, he hath the word of the bard. To day things be not so slim that man mayst do things he canst not limn but it is by nature his grace is holy. Be it the painter, calligrapher, sculptor, and so the musician- all things lie great for these men and women with anyway they are to be in tune. I thank all wordsmiths of this phaseless art. All whom partaken in the arts fine and fair, I hope it remains a subtle way. Should this form not go astray no matter the one. It should forevermore be for the greater good of the Kosmos, the greater good of mortal life. To beyond is possible by the word or by the sound of tether'd consciousness. This is not all, more is all and we hast yet more. In this time I taketh it as mine. I remember O Shakespeare, I remember thee. Worrit not for relevance of thy excellence, it is eternal and is to be. As thou saith; 'To be or not to be' I in this frame saith but the same, 'of or of not' so shall it be known. This world without the bitterness of poetry is a world void. The verses spew'd by this passion art noble, gentle, but fierce to where no ordinaries canst trod. Only those with the light of the greatest substances of spirit so genuine. Shakespeare o gallant one, rest...rest upon thy crypt. By thy word rest easy and if so the world is sway'd in cause of man's ego and rage I shall soothe thy stone long the crescent moon above that fluoresces god's acre.  Mine thanks Shakespeare, thou hast mine thanks. For us all I'll keep poetry and true lit alive for the greater good of humanity, for the sake of salience.

Sometimes I read books
But the pages kept ending
So I hugged the trees