A melancholic gaze
Upon my walks I have, born out of wanderlust,
Having thoughts and feelings 'bout dust
And Byron's ways,

The wind is in my raven hair,
    A poet is my heart,
Between hope and despair
I classify my written art.

Many women and wine out of still skulls
I am a stranger to,
But not to skills
Of natures who're romantic as a hue.

in this pestilence and heartache,
i doth lie here without remembering
an instance where i shall not stay
in this quietly bleeding prison

my hands have groped the air
for a phantom amongst the breeze
but there is no longer a soul to spare
when i am brought back to my knees.

i feel my prayers are but thrown
fruitless pleadings to the sky
my truths to bear, are mine alone
never will they be your plight

you hold your head to my chest
and we dream away the time
this prison feels like a prison less
when your heart is calling to mine

Let's rewrite a poem for you,
No apologias to Byron 102,
Oh bowls of spew, Oh bowls of spew,
Stale weeties they wouldn't waste on you,'
Where once I cooked bacon and eggs,
For privileges don't even beg,
On your blackmail, I renege,
Oh bowls of spew, oh bowls of spew,
More than your family would waste on you,
No apologias to Byron 102......

he walks in awe, and would curse my interest in night
of clear silence and sighs
at promiscuous men's obsession with purity
within his aspect and his eyes
he looks down to my ******* and I ask him why
to which he replies and typically denies

he caresses those who adore lust and then calls them '******' when they are no less
had they been tighter.. but he likes lace?
his hands stroke my raven tress
as he says I am not like the rest
he whispers that he will handle me best
but if I was not pure I know I would be in another place

I stroke his cheek and admire his brow
yet why does this man objectify me as eloquent
so soft? don't reply to my letter. so calm? you haven't met me properly, have you?
deceived by my smile but I am not deceived by yours, o' 'gent'
if only more had visited below
but then again, my heart would still be innocent!

Oh lord Byron you silly fool ,breaking all society's rules

Women come and women go

But you can't let the words go, they follow you everyday in your mind they run and play

Silly rhymes of love forlorn, men and women you did adore

Your lovely sister ,your true love,who are these people that they  judge

Your exile they say is out of shame,but we both know your not to blame

For we are different a separate lot,we leave our mark, and then we're gone,leaving only our love forlorn

Look at the lovely Lord Byron
Sweet John Keats
And Percy Shelley
What an awesome group
Of poets
Bet they were really romantic

we were
in bed
that day
when
there was a midday twilight

a daze crept over us
delicate
as a fast fog

it was the feeling of floating

a barely waking ecstasy
an unreal ethereal delirium
i cant describe it

it was
something
like nothing
ive ever felt before

in the belly of our canopy bed
in that forbidden flat
on a forever day

we laughed as she
pressed her head up
& pitched the draped overlay
wearing it
like a puffy white sombrero


as the
sun
filtered through
the linen cube glowed
a yellow shade

the two of us
waiting weightless
in this unearthly space

a monster teepee on a cloud
a sailboat in the sand


it all could have been
a heavenesque hallucination
but
for the fact that
she asked if i felt it too

i said i did
after she confessed
she had no words
to describe it

it was sublime
too simple
true

& it left by night
as we tucked in to watch movies
a mini projector hovering
images pressed against an endless cinema screen
almost as radiant
as our re-animation

Oh? But what wandering eye?
You curse me so still?
I have given you my dignity, my chastity, my love and my hate.
Why must you demand?
These shackles you hold around my feet,
They are frigid, fickle... Frugal.
Surely I am not to blame! Surely, surely!
Oh, but wandering eye,
You have outlasted all, you have tainted all in your cruel excitement.
You are my well-lived enemy

Oh, but so fair, oh but so tall, and oh,
How you vitiate my love and loves!
Oh, how you have bound many before you!

What flickering excitement you bring, and what black ruin you warrant.