She born as a sad news, starts burgeoning as she grows, her miseries following flows with the rhythm, held in curtailment reach to the juncture of a new lament Wedlock with duty, chore and torturing tis’ chapter of her life yet keeps going. Getting older and older by inchmeal bids adieu to her beauty with genteel and bidding farewell to her weary soul In grave unrequited, another book closed.
Their gears twist and turn, cranking tirelessly Round the mortal coils of a mellower Art and content of games played wirelessly. The game boards are awash with bellowers, Slighted pawns too bound by echo tubing Passed around to fortunetellers frightened By town criers trying to throw heartstrings Of lovers obsessed with burdens lightened. "She is trapped and he the trapper," they say. Shall he free her and see her twist and break? Maybe that is her choice," but not today, Or tomorrow or the next," he risks fate. Their goal is obvious: parting those two. Too bad their love is a folie à deux.
Folie à Deux means madness for two. it's a case in which two people share the same delusion. Like lover's having the same fantasy.
Righteous anger is intoxicating; Brain cells sold to the fiction of the mind. It funds peddlers too loudly debating: Oh, what to do with words spent on designs Of machines combating contradictions? Their motherboards are hardwired for the ****. Any thoughts or beliefs on opinions? Just wait for their hunger to get its fill. Nothing like teeth flushed with red and venom. ***, death, and chocolate cannot compare To the moral high ground's cheap decorum Of beliefs held in contempt and despair. Because paying attention to the wit Of my getting hard done by is the ****.
The kitchen table, dimly lit, at which Sit I, with book propp’d up upon the edge, And in my hand, a mug bedeck’d with owls, To the brim fill’d with sweet cinnamon chai. The room as warm as summer, walls protect. And I look out at the surrounding black Becoming lost deep in the rain and wind Which whirls without, just like a dancer wild Would swirl a ribbon round and round their head. But i sit in my isle of warmth and light. While they are locked outside, in fath’mless dark.
another poem from highschool. We were studying iambic pentamiter.