If you want to write a poem,
         about being angry.
             You need to first get hungry.

One thing, it seems human nature can't abide,
    Believing, it could be on the wrong side.

I think That I shall never see,
               a book of poetry,
                     That didn't **** a tree.

I'm just a man,
       trying to understand,
                     If there is a plan,
                           mortals, can understand.

I awoke one morning from a powerful dream
my brain all flustered as if powered by steam
The images so haunting they had to be saved in word
my imagination could not write it, how absurd
As my pen hovered over my empty note book
should my dream be told, could I be mistook  
Then my powerful dream emptied into the cold morning air
left me saddened and empty and full of despair
                                    BUT
I look at it as not a crash, but a very close miss
Because I wouldn't of been able to entertained you by writing this

The book I started to read filled me with hope and tears of joy
I remembered with excitement thinking, I could have been that boy

As the pages turned, my excitement diminished and the boy was, no-more
I continued to read his story but not with the same gusto as before

Until it came to light there was a girl who filled his dreams
Who loved him as much as I did, or so it seems?

As the pages turned with sadness, she took a leading part
Then as the last page turned, we both died of a broken heart

So, I closed the book and wiped away my tears of grief
Loathing the author who stole my heart, the ***** thief

Under the willow he held her hand
professed his love with a golden band

She looked into his eyes and thought awhile
then professed her thoughts with a golden smile

I like you a lot, to be with you is good fun
to spend the rest of my life, sorry your not the one

Don't look at me that way this is not your end
with time your heart will surly mend

So, she left him there perched on one knee
under the bows of the old willow tree