It's not the one who goes along
Who holds the real power
Nor the loudest demanding voice
That pretends, then cowers

He who holds Virtue's endowment
Doesn't command the room
The perceived misfitted outcast
Who, when dark, they come to

First, come to grips with death
Face the fear
Then move on
Then work your *** off
Giving yourself completely
To your artistic passions
And mountain climbing adventures
And once you've failed
Hundreds of times
Learn from the masters
Be the most absorbent sponge
Capable of soaking up
The whole ******* thing
And take your passions
The ones that are beautiful
The ones that make other creatures
Be filled with awe of something
That is so greatly, greater than
That has been divinely touched
And breathed on from the beyond
And allow
Just allow
That passion to take you
All the way
Downstream

A blond girl walks in front
and I fall in love
not with how she jgiggles
(that comes later walking home)
because she doesn't
in her neat two short
French braids,
petite flat black shoes
and a rolled up, no
it can't be no one reads
printed media anymore
but it's there, in her purse
as she walks fast
fading into the future
I can't catch up with even if
she doesn't turn left or right
while I'm a centrist so our future
diverges splits into
parallel universes identical
except our minor chord variation
in the Music

The greatest fear
Most westerners hold
Is losing their conveniences

But missing art
And its grace unfold
Gets my trepid allegiances

Today
Is simply
Too magnificent
And beauty-filled
To feel as low, as I do

Is it
That I viewed
Some flawed fool
Capable of holding my gold
Trust sold cheap, a painful rue

Or the
Simple truth
Perhaps, I am
The mercurial shift
Along with the sands and infinity too

Or that
I've been blind
To said beauty's bound
An ample and abundant spread
Amongst the slews of trivial miscues

Likely
I avoid
Freedom's siren ring
For familiar's amenity chains
Electing convenience over break-through