Once upon abysmal time,
A dismal time I should dare say,
There lived a miser man, the wiser
To the woeful ways of man.

He lived in pallid peace and torment,
Abhorrent in his solemn sight,
For he could see forever - the better
To know the woeful ways of man.

The world's collapsed inside his head,
Transpired into some sepulchre.
Ragnarok had come and run
To purge the woeful ways of man.

Corruption was a fever dream,
Demeanour only ghosts aloft.
Extinction came without distinction
To end the woeful ways of man.

There was but one survivor left,
The wiser to his dying ways.
He saw the placid land, made tacet
By the woeful ways of man.

Nothing left to spoil the view,
The toils so wrought were gone at last.
The man laid down and died: Goodbye,
O woeful ways of man.

Dear,
During our distressful dispersal,
Due to dismal dismissal on my defense,
Your dreary demeanour is decidedly
Distressful.

Earnestly,
I evince my emotions, expressing every
Effort to ebulliate my everything,
But ephemeral expulsion excommunicates me
Exceptionally.

Apathetic,
You arrive, always akin to antipathy,
Although any alacrity you attempt
Assiduously alleviates my alerting
Affliction.

Reconsider
This rejection, revile in my respect,
Rescinding no recompense for this respelendance.
Rejuvenate while I receive the rigour and
Reward,
Dear

You, rainbow, hanging in the sky,
Defiant of the contrary -
Will you teach me the secrets
Of your freedoms?

Faint but full, you live a life.
So true, yet you don't live at all.
None can catch you,
None can hurt you.

You watch over those you love,
Intangible, unreachable.
Why must you taunt me?

Perhaps I will be a rainbow,
Someday.

The artist never sets down her brush,
Though many days she'd like to.
In every sigh, she lets by
Another stroke; She puts her touch
On the painting of her life.

More beautiful than all of her works,
Yet still her portrait's blue.
She can't hide what's inside:
A soul so sad, to feel it truly hurts.
Such that she fears any sight.

Yet every painting has a frame to hold it:
The artist is no different.
In his eyes, she's a prize
Worth any burden, no matter how cold.
The artist denies her beauty.

She finds herself undeserving of a frame;
She finds her soul indecent.
She is blind, she will find,
And her frame will discover the same
And hold her. It's his duty.

Curious, the way the seasons find their home in everything.
Perilous, the way the coldest frost of winter always comes.
Maddening, the way that frost will always melt in time for spring.
Saddening, the way the heat must always leave and make you fall.

I am a mask.

I am the face of soldiers, murderers, monsters, heroes...
Though I guard one man from stealing eyes
I am the last thing many see,
From the gallows to the shadows
And the depths of the sea.

Savior, slaughterer, sacred, scarring,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.

I am a mask.

I am the shield of the weak,
Protector of the fearful,
But people look down on me.
They call me a coward, but then I am showered
With praise when the crooked see.

Needed, never noticed, nervous,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.

I am a mask.

Used and thrown away,
Used again another day:
To raise a gun and rob a bank;
To shield the lawman stopping a criminal;
To blind a man who walks on death row;
To hide the executioner's twisted smile.

Lawbreaker, liberator, litigator, life,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.

I am a mask.

As feathers fall upon the soft spring snow,
Terror freezes the knowing like black ice,
For careless eyes pierce the veil below
In search of blood in gory paradise.

The wanted flee like pigs in blind terror
Of such a doom, each step hard as their breath.
A cracked smile on the beak of the horror
As he drops into the chaos, fearless.

Yet he faced something he did not expect.
Said the eagle to the mouse, "Why not run?"
The mouse simply smiled as she spoke up,
"Why not fly?" as the cougar caught his lunch.

And now the lemmings and mice run again;
The cougar was hungry, the eagle dead.