Am I true to myself or do I live for the expectations of others
I got lost in this world and forgot who I am.
But still held captive by my own conscious

A reign of tyranny has began.
I armour myself with their fear.
With love trying to illuminate my heart,

I seek console in ******, that way I maintain my sanity.

With my unending quest to escape the drudgery of my leadership,

My journey as a cynic  has just started.

November dazzles
In its mundanity.
The month between the
Russet autumn and blue winter.
Skeletal leaves
on the lyre are strung
In azure frosts
in emerald forests
and encrusted with rubies.
Novembers reclines in its throne.
In a minute,
a minute or so
It will slip to salt
and December's long
bequeathed chorus will begin
And so I will savour
these few shining seconds
a little longer.