Let me tell you about that night
When the moon hadn't been high.
The clouds were all set around
Making a path, at the center, for luna to lie.

The clouds became blue,
The stars were blocked.
In time, rainfall came though,
In mid October, as we talk.

The date had been wrong,
My calendar was torn.
Clouds' inspirations prolong,
A raincoat I had worn.

Spurious correlation is when two random variables line up,
Such as shark attacks increasing with the amount of ice pops sold,
Unfortunately for health nuts, ice pops don't cause shark attacks.
But what is truly spuriously correlated is this bullet board,
That I am using to unravel the secrets of writing today.
Such as the number 122 lining up with severely different artists,
As well as well defined writers turning into many missing cases.
If I was ever offered a job as official poet detective,
Of course I would take it, but I would run circles each day.

Folding thoughts like origami
fortress of the hectic army
a sea of fans cheering wildly
and nothing certain waning mildly.

A pile of notes and bloated files of writings,
the little terrors these forgotten worlds invite in.
A choir of friendly voices turning choices into stressful hourly junctions degrading your peace and eroding your mental function.

I write in lines the complex as the simple but between them find a blurred reflection, a swirling mirror in which I seek answers but find only an ever increasing number of questions.

The thunder , fell upon clouds
The clouds ,started growling  aloud
The shadows falls,
As the sun was hidden
The trees were  stiffen.

The waves grew still, their rhythm destroyed,
An endless echo, a vast, dark void.
The way peace mused,
It Made him annoyed.

He was a pirate ,
in the clouds
He sailed,
Born with a sword,
and chaos
Embraced.

He was a fighter for peace,
He fought,
But never saw it front....
He sailed distant clouds
But never was stunned ,
He was annoyed with peace .
He longed to soar through waves
And clouds to pierce
And  the pirate who gave him fight
So fierce.

The sword which he lived by,
The blood that it missed by
If it is not peace , he thought
Then what is it for which
He fought.

He was confused to sail
Backed no wind ,
To row they fail.
He saw the sun settling
With sorrow ,
As he hoped for another
Day from God to borrow.

At distant in his heart
A never ending beat....
Dry throat ,
numb eyes,
Sweat a drop ,No summer & heat
Smiling with lips
As he uttered
" Is it a pirate's defeat"!?