.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                           
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'

.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'

People never listen to your noise, But could always hear your silence!

In the title of your poem,
Use Poem, Poet, or Poetry,
Don't be quick to scorn;
I can almost guarantee
A Hit,
A Trendy.
Then we may ask,
Has this poet
Written poetry?
Then we may answer,
*Well, there's mention
Of the trinity,
Run it up the pole,
Let's see.

The tragedy
of the binomial couples-
day & night,
black & white,
wrong & right;
together in our words,
separated in our world.

Green tea equations and cigarettes and
a distinct lack of food and
dark night lovely lonely walks and
maybe tomorrow
she will wake in a life
where she can love all parts of herself.

Can you feel that?
What a wondrous sensation.
She takes cold hands and
questions and buries them
in that empty stomach that
sings loudest when she fails
at sleeping. This girl with worn patches
and an overwhelming sense of
irony; there's too much to her
but still she is not enough.

Life is funny: completely filled with unspoken, sometimes unnoticed, irony

scars of a past I wanted nothing to do with
led me to handcuff myself
to a lampole for security.

I had reached my consensus.

I threw the keys to these cuffs
in mental portals where I thought
no one would dare to ever travel.

Many tried searching
but I intentionally
obstructed access
with deceptive rants of fear and caution.

By then
I was sure
that I had thoroughly built walls of security;
I was safe
...but who would've thought
my aesthetically intellectual design
had a weakness?

The enemy came just as they all did,
hoping to be let in...
but this one reacted differently when the ranting came;
I was now at a disadvantage
because I had no other alternatives for defense.

The enemy showed no care for my security;
It was attractive
And I succumbed while
Never forgetting my plan
Although it seemed my design was nugatory.

My mental lampole and cuffs,
gone.

I was left subjugated
at the feet of a queen
who carried an aura
with the most beautiful spectrum.

Like a bull snake,
promises of security
grappled my core,
draining it of all fear
leaving behind no traces
of deception.

Although defeated,
she still remains my enemy
because serendipity
never seems to stick around.

In the next second, one eye closed...
A body was planted
On our street.

We're all so busy, and petty, and in a huge rush.

In a different light, the life turned purple,
and than black.
It stays black, until washed away
  by the same people who take out our
  trash.
It makes me wonder
  Are all of our imminent corpse just garbage
  waiting to be picked up?