The more I mean it     the more my will melts,
with resolute strength,     square's into circles.

The unwavering     will, awoken by
a thousand threats, is     shook but never thrown.

In the hem and haw     of hesitation,
a lull of cloud hangs     low and lingering.

Curious clusters     of uncurled tendrils
traverse the trellis,     touched to feel their way.

Burnt ochre, brittle     and blackened since bloom.
In death's repose, the     roses are refined.

Decaying by the     cove, a crowd of leaves,
content and concealed     in traps of comfort.

The branches quiver,     clinging to cold roots.
Strength surfaces from     the sinuous deep.

Distilled dreams drift dazedly.
Drumming dares defiantly!
Defeating deafened demons

Supercilious satirists sipping scotch with seriousness
while discussing super silly stories
in a state of semi-deliriousness.

i am the wiggling worm
writhing on the slippery sidewalk
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day.

i weave the baleful boots
yield the pernicious puddles
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day.

i am pelted by relentless rain
pummeled by its wanton weight
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day.

you may ask, "why wiggling worm?
why take this cursed course
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day?

have you no humbled home
have you no able abode
on a cold, and dreary,
rainy day?"

"i am the vivacious vagabond," i reply
"i am admittedly ambulant,
on this cold, and dreary,
rainy day.

because i must agnize affliction
i must debase duress
on this cold, and dreary,
rainy day.

if i am to appreciate the bountiful bloom
i must know the duteous doom
such as this cold, and dreary,
rainy day.