The arctic spell of this winter,
Has finally froze the river.
With the parade currents lying still,
Grasping the last air to be free again.
For the river has now lost its audience,
As they paddled into the deep sea.
While the polar glass exhibited the frozen lie,
The anecdote of time taking a pause,
In a bewitching black of a silver sky.
Alas the sublime river starts to hope again,
As the sun embraced warmer rays,
With every melt of the icy skin,
The river heart starts to beat again.
At the dawn of this winter lapse.
The currents ran once more,
With the arrival of the inhabitants,
The river was once alive again.

Let these windows be the theatres,
Where the play is wild and original,
Where every cast is a superb actor,
Where the story is the best fiction,
Like a farm boy on an old tractor.

Let these eyes be the camera,
Where the view is sharp and shaped,
Where every object gets an imperfect finish
Where the image is at its crown grace.
The portrait of the lost gimmicks.

Let these skies be the shower,
Where from the rain falls to cleanse,
Where the head gets a awe spin,
Where its virtue had always been,
The roof over a million dreams.

So I care not,
If I am the blind for this earth,
The ghost of an enemy,
With no eyes, I still feel,
The rewarding gift of eternity.

My life is a horror movie with some comedy throw in
My mood Is a classic black and white film, so simple in the times
Coming out long before my rhymes
Even with these dying times.
I got some life to give
I have some to inspire
Tell what you aspire
Towards- I really want to know
All the guys want her but challenge each other with nose goes
But im a hopeful romantic
I think I got the fresh vibes
To keep her heart sane at night
Not an emotional fight
When she's crying on her pillow
Wifes with a willow
Girls who cry on the pillows
Same effect
I have many defects
So baby take light on me
I'm a little crazy
But Im no monster
I'll be your mad scientist, baby
If you be my vintage Terri Garr
I will bless the stars

an eerie song that sings of secret trysts,
of long lost love, of desolate despair
that climbs upon the ghostly midnight air,
where winter seas are bathed in cloudy mists.
and i am captivated by the cries
of melancholy winds and stormy waves
that sing around the lonely ocean caves
and drown the heavens with their lovelorn sighs.
a voice that whispered; "once i loved her so
that the wide sea could not keep us apart,
the sound you heard the beating of my heart,
or murmur of the tide, you'll never know."
as if the sea was haunted by a ghost,
who called my name along the weary coast.

she wanders through the forests and the groves,
her bare feet scarce upon the mossy ground,
as day sinks into night without a sound
and sunset fills the skies with pinks and mauves;
and like a restless breeze she wildly roves,
a love-lost woodland dryad, summer-crowned
and who could ever guess where she was bound,
or why the sea so whispered near the coves.
her eyes as bright as a white-feathered dove,
beyond the river, near a sheltered tree,
she rests awhile finds lilies for her hair,
their flowery mist no prettier than she,
(enchanting in the hearkened, vibrant air,)
her heart soft-brimmed with longing and with love.

the blackbird sings of summer from the oak,
a ladybird cavorts upon the rose
and while the sunlight hours sweetly spoke,
i dreamt of meadows where the poppy grows.
i dreamt of tranquil moons and nightingales,
the sun an amber flame against the sky,
i dreamt of old romance and holy grails,
the evening closing in, the day drifts by.
the petals fall, soft pinks, confetti thin,
cool walls of fragrant blooms that fall too soon,
a gentle breeze that brushes on my skin,
reflections pale, a lazy afternoon.
my soul bathed clean, the sunlight blinds the eye
the wild rose must lament and so do i.