Speechless.

Without words.

Unable to form coherent sentences.

Without the ability to structure abject thought.

Lacking the necessary temporal lobe functionality
To process latent thought semantics
Into appropriate nervous synapses to create sounds.

Speechless.

You leave me speechless.

Inflation, I tell you.

Back in my day, happiness was a stuffed bear,
Or finishing an ice cream before it melted down your arm.

And you came back with change.

Now it takes a life loan, entire people involved.
Might as well cost a first-born.

I hear they make it over-seas now, for pennies a day,
But I'm sure not paying any less for it.

Maybe if they subsidised it, like a good government,
I could afford three square smiles a day.

Hell, one would be nice.

I'll just have to work a second job
To afford being able to afford things.

That **** inflation,
Always driving up the price.

Let us share a life that others only read about in books.
A messy, half-indulged affair - The well laid plans of mice and men -
Of Brobdingnagian proportions, forever lust of Laputa and Arrakis.

Frankly my dear, I don't give a ****
If flies to wanton boys are we.
A sword unrusted is without use,
And it takes two to make an accident.

I don't want to prove anything; I merely want to live,
And suit the action to the word, for those of manner born.
History is a victor's game: vaporised was the usual word.
Let our embrace be the battle, our ****** the victory,
And our present-past shall control our future.

Let us never look into the distance and the old terror
Flame up for even an instant -
Never let our minds be full of scorpions, dear wife -
The world is our oyster, don't panic.

Let Chaucer write his tales,
Let Antoinette eat her cake;
Let us show Emma what, precisely,
It is in life that looks so fine to her in books.
Certainly not an attic facing north, I'll tell you as much.

Live with me a life worth living.
We're going to have a strange life.

What a sublime impermanence is to be found
In this cavalcade of inanity we know as love.

What once heralded joy, pledged promise divine
Now spawns a spurn that admonishes mine.

What delicious torture a man must bear
If he is of the lover's ilk - Cupid's doll.

What must one do to abolish the scars
Left by the ravages that heartbreak can mar?

What tumult must be borne within the mortal soul
In order to appease the convolutions of the human psyche.

What a breath a malaise for a logic gone dead,
The emotional hierophant left in its stead.

What is the purpose to the words I am writing,
The ramblings so obfuscated on which my time is wasted?

What a beacon they serve to those jaded and lost -
To those that have loved and tasted the cost.

I held the world in my arms today -
Warm, pulsing, beating,
Yet, still, as though placid, tranquil,
Real.

I found myself protected,
Nay, projected by ashen clouds aloft:
Hot like a mother's embrace,
Yet dark, as if the world
Bled to me these clouds of ash.

But do not think these clouds are fear -
Anything would hold more truth.
On emerald breaths
And azure words
They bore me skyward from my ground -
If any could call it ground -
And altitude unnamed was here;
These clouds had made it mine.

So on these silken clouds of ash,
I rise into the cosmic sea.
In a world upside-down,
I point up,
And know I am lost only to time.
And I point to the world.

I held the world in my arms today -
So cold.
Real.

Ebullient is this exuberant time
Of which here-to-fore was but a terse dream!
The angel, so lovely, has made herself mine
And I am now hers in elated esteem.

Her beauty, unbounded, is not superficial:
She's sweeter than the honeyed words traded
Between us two - ephemeral, distal,
Yet not misconstrued as less than elated.

Perhaps I'm a fool to blather such thoughts:
This woman, though sweet, is a mystery still.
We've spoken but moments so broken and hot,
Yet with every word that we share, my heart fills

With adoration for this angel so fair,
And adulation for what put her there.

I met my oldest friend today,
Lurking in the shrouded mire
That is desire: His name is
Shadow.

He's always been a sombre chap,
Taciturn but not unmoving -
Introducing me to certain
Changes.

His path, in light, will follow mine,
But in the darkness remonstrance
With no semblance; he moves
My path.

Here he is in dark attire,
His face a haunting disapproval.
For the removal of malcontent,
He comes.

Just as he is bound to me,
So too must I reciprocate -
Demonstrate the draft he draws
For me.

Shadow changes my path.
He comes for me.