Sweet opus, sweeter hope
Anger in the same, of a friends stare?
Sent from here to eternity, a chastity's cope
Through the eyes of friendship, we know a care...

Sentiment of challenges, asked to contain
A laugh of days long austerity
The grace or the cramp of resolve, to maintain
A hopeful live and let it be known, the choice of a vanity

Sweet hope, sweeter opus
Set to livid forces, we sake a chance meeting
With advancing judgment, of a seemingly national cause
Set to living days, a blow of wind with time for a friend?

Prayers are said
Patience be a column of repose, livid even as tears stream
Plied eyes should, a careful need for what was lead
Persuasion of a courtesy, that has become a pet demon...

Pretty invaders, in particularity's cloth, seconds of dress
That are formal, that are fiendish?
To make no mistake about a hateful lip, heard in the God bless
Of the moment partaken, where a silent mention of a wish...

Is a brazen cough, of psyche and dismay...
Taken to reality; for a simpler have, and orchestration
How is a waiting hour, the only way to seek a smile from a stranger?
Answering the question, a priest indicates if hell to pay, is our destination...

Secrets of watches, of the teary night
None to lay, and become a knight of persuasion asking ways
Of a reason beyond silence, the order of dread to a wishful right
Right about now, a marriage has looked, and seen times bell mays

Power of the named
And the cursing of prowess, to understate the privilege
Will a careful lip understand the notion, of a particular shame?
Setting love before justice, is a reality of gestures for life, or a ******?

You scramble amid
The shattered
Jagged facets
Of yourself
A circus show
Of a hollow soul

Dreamshards
Timepieces
You caught a
Falling star
In a dead field
And it twisted
Life-like
In your grip

Set a timer.
Watch the millisecs tick away;
Not so much telling me
How much time is left,
But how much is irretrievable.
Not like waves,
Washing upon themselves and returning.
Not like the hour glass
With sand that once was a boulder
That once was part of a mountain
That rose up from the burgeoning strife of life.
The hourglass, that looks right-side-up
Or up-side-down,
Depending on your perspective.
Not like sundials, pointing in the wrong direction,
And always running clockwise.
No,
Setting a timer
Alarms me
For all the same reasons
As wearing a watch.

I don't cry a lot, or at all for that matter.
I've fooled myself into thinking strength, isn't comforted by weakness.
Truth is, weakness is the builder of strength.

I find that so contradictory, because what breaks me, tears me up and what strengthens me, builds my character up.

No one decides, which is which.
We have feminists arguing on behalf of the woman, dictating and reasoning for emotional expressions, but society judges being make and falling.

Being a man, is a matter of endurance through hardships, breaking sweats, but never breaking a tear, because water works shouldn't work on male species, because feeling, isn't in our nature, says society.

So, we aimlessly tear through the jungle, hunting for what we don't know, looking for a next meal, never being content, because, contentment is not part of our nature, says society.

With private parts being made public, we move through the next with being hesitant, by the time she realizes, she's already been ******.

Break hearts, play hearts and acting like we have hearts. That's society's perception of the male species.

Society never talks about, the clean up crew.
Society, never speaks about me.

Society never speaks about my ****** hands with cuts of your broken heart, and with missing body parts try to bring aid to your heart.

Society never speaks about trying to make you understand how I'm different, and with countless bouquets, it's never okay to let me in because you let him in, and from the *******, he left like you were nothing, and now that you have something, you won't let me in.

He penetrated your skin, and I'm not fascinated by it, I was see your soul unmasked to mine, so I explore your soul before your body, and these steps I take on hot coal, because he didn't care so much so that the cuts burn.

Your soul is almost like a morgue, I swear it's like your heart has been cremated, with an invite to your funeral, I hope you spread your ashes on my heart, so once again you can feel something whole, again.