I look up to the sky, cold and gray, leaving me reminiscing  of my mortal decay
Swollen with fear, I whisper comforting phrases into your ear,
Nothing but the stolid rain
Kissing away our mental bane
Leaves us empty, wandering like midnight, in a vacant train
So we stay teetering on the edge of reflection
Our minds give away to sicking deceptions.
We move in, to seize what so awkwardly keeps us dismayed
Closer
Wait we just may
I wrap my tongue tightly around the tips of your lips
Hoping never to lose my grip.
Your heart's tickled, spreading sunshine like ripples beaming beyond what is believably permissible
But so soon to pass the moment cannot last
Vanishing like tears in an ocean,
This moment,
Gone forever like a fleeting motion  
Soon to be a stale memory
Waiting to be filtered by time's relentless lapsing devotion
Now I wait for this thought to wash up one deary morning
Forever anticipating that beautiful, but distant emotion

Dance on a skeleton tightrope,
Bones strung across a bottomless hole
One foot in front of the other
With spiderwebs holding your wrists prisoner
Pill bottles around the sink
Tapping on their tiptoes
Lined up to greet you,
To pour sleepdeathdarkness down your throat
A knife spins on its scarlet-stained tip
A weeping chasm divides the solidity of your vein
Railroad tracks on snow, the crows lose their voices
And drop feathers into the frost
Feathers fill your head so you cannot thinkspeakbreathe
A kiss of sunshine tries to wake you,
But you’re too far under
The frigid waves
Palms raised to the walls of the iceberg
Lips parted to sing a song of release me please
Hushandshush no one wants to hear you cry, deary
Stitch a smile into your lips
Hide the tears that dance on your vocal strings
No one wants to see the broken doll
Who dances on cracked limbs
Porcelain dancing on thin ice, watch it
S h
A
Tte
R
Watch her fall
No one really wanted to save her after all
Dance in a nightmare, cry in a dream
The pain will make me burst at the seams
I can see the blood spilling
Onto the tile floor
It stains my eyes, it stains my heart
It digs claws into my soul to tear me apart
The fog tranforms into laughing ghosts
Their faces are the masks of tragedy
Their eyes are everything I fear
These are not words that I want to hear
A boy with eyes the color of chocolate and mahogany
Is desperate to keep me safe
But I am afraid
Even the warmest kiss cannot melt the icicles lining my veins
Here I go, to walk the skeleton tightrope,
My tears fall into the bottomless void
Behind me, the monsters ask me to fall
Ahead my soul begs me to
Put one foot
Ahead of the other
Keep walking the skeleton tightrope, forward
Into the gleaming city of hope.

The boy, shaking with excitement, nervously bangled the key into the tiny obscuration, just as he sank it deep in the purse and twisted it began to give as if to break and he stopped. The wretched key would not turn no matter which way he fumbled it into the opening trying. He, puzzled, sat back on his haunches and squeezing his countenance…carefully, slowly, measured in his way, he slid it in without a waver and sank it into place. A foul wind blowed and forced his cough but with it came the flutes…and just then, as if by magic, a voice so resolute;

“Heaven’s treasure cannot be seen or known except in heart’s desires,”

“And certainly never be known by a farmer-boy or filth-trodden squires!”

“For ancient sealing of box so great withheld Pandora’s fires!”

“…but listen closely for a truth is hidden in conundrum,”

The little boy gleamed with excitement as he dropped on his hands placing his ear to the keyhole whence the fluting and cherubic voice extruded…though nothing came forth? Try as he might, the key again and again, there was nothing more to the magic of the box. Though he was sure that in this box a treasure was to be found, in all his days, the many numbered, never did resound, never did the voice again give instruction to propound, never did it give again to magic thus profound and never did he figure out, the mystery which did confound!

  To wit the newest little boy said;

“But grandpa how does the story end then?”

  Without haste he replied to the child;

“Never want-for, nor ask, nor seek out, all the paths of heaven’s fortunes,”

“Never covet sacred knowledge or doubt the god’s contortions,”

“Forever all will be as well as good as you can be, if you can be a richer man when giving other's portions…”

  With that said the old farmer died. His daughter and the child’s mother, tears streaming down her flustered cheeks, grabbed him up and began to say a prayer for her dead father while unbeknownst to the family; a troupe in their employ had been employed by someone else and that someone was waiting for a signal. At the moment of the man’s passing the horse-hand ran from the sprawling estate to a well at the fork in the dirt road leading to the local town. There sat a traditional well and bucket with a large copper bell at the top and he rang it with a fervent vigor. The black horses in the thickets past the field bellicosely retorted as they were whipped into an action. Then along came the banker’s chariot, filled with three men in black, riding quickly to the manor’s door;

-judge, pastor, banker.

  Storming into the home the pastor ran to comfort them and strutting-forth, so the banker and his judge in stride comportment too. Slight his pause and nary couth the banker announced his judge and from his handbag produced a document, an unwieldy scroll of parchment…

“Alas my dear and sorrowful child be happy for this great farm! Your inheritance is more than most and do not be alarmed! For we have come upon the courts with documented trust, read this here then sign away to keep the farm you must! For all you see and gathered to you, bought upon agreement, that on thick trunk with gleaming content be exchanged to me for deed it seem-med!”

  Shocked, the woman protested;

“Never nay, what’s this you say? The box his greatest treasure…he would not have done, no this cannot be, sold it without inform me and in measure, for he hath had this since a boy of youth collecting wood in winter’s cold displeasure?”

  The judge stepped forth to conclude the matter and gave her some, though curt, respite;

“Now, now dear we feel your loss but see these lines and see these costs? Chickens, horses, sheep, a wagon, seeds and stock and land, a home, -the lumber, nails, the roof of stone? O’er the years buying more and more, whilst only for once to settle this score, upon release here is your deed, give us the box for which you have no need, this is not a matter of one man’s greed for it says in payment here and here, collateral, that box was dear!”

  In came the horse-hand with axe and fury, chopping apart the bedroom floor, -and in such a hurry, the four they cooed and sighed aloud, as a gleaming treasure chest appeared before the crowd, dropping all the four to knee as banker cried his rapacious glee;

“All these long years did I thus wait and now will find the heaven’s gate! Load it men, the treasure ours, the moon and sun, the awesome stars, the untold secrets of millennia past, we are rich as all the ancient Kings at last!”

Before they left he turned to her and proudly presented his palm extended;

“The key there deary…”

She begrudgingly removed the necklace about her neck and handed it over…after the men had left her little boy said;

“Don’t cry mom and don’t worried, boy have I got to tell you a story!”

The End of the Golden Key

Ezra clamber’d o’er the crest
to seek the way which he knew best
which, passing by the yellow tares
and turning at a grove of pears
set him at ancient fungal oak
where upon a branch he hung his cloak

For on some odd-nights within his mare
declared a warlock and his maiden fair:

“Spindled by the peary copse
after fields of shammy crops
stands that vile toady oak
shading torpid mystic folk

“Percieveth thee the one with warty beak?
‘Tis to him whom you must speak.
Rouse him from his slumber, Ezra,
pray of him your task."

The wizard with the moley snout
reclining with a snoozy pout
snored upward from that moldy bark
and whispered “yonder peasant, hark!

“Ezra, deary, there’s a bane
The shepherds hold in some disdain
for sheps can’t herd bereft of sheep
and this bane ingests them in their sleep.
Do ******* hip your faithful blade
and into swampy depths do wade
so to provoke this shepherd's foe
and smite him lifeless head to toe.”

Reach for the sky
Ingrid said
as you and she
swung on the swings

in Jail Park
your feet pointed skyward
your hands gripping
the metal linked rings

the wooden seat
beneath you
and the sky
was a fine

summery blue
clouds were white
as engine puffed smoke
and you said

my old man
nicked money
from my blue
money box

I never saw him
I just heard him
early this morning
with the rattling

as he used a knife
to eject the coins
Ingrid gaped at you
as she swung

beside you
how much
did you have in there?
she asked

couple of quid
I expect
you said
now it's lighter

and rattles emptier
why did he do that?
she asked
you pushed your feet higher

and bent forward
on the swing's chains
and up you went
reaching for the sun

he needed it
for a packet of cigarettes
I guess
you said

but that's thieving
she said
he'd say
it was liberating

coins for a purpose
of need
you smiled
has a way with words

if not much else
you said
you studied Ingrid
as she swung at your side

her black scuffed shoes
the grey once white socks
the sleeveless
stained flowery dress

which came to the knees
her dark hair
pinned back
with the metal grips

her thin wired spectacles
with her large eyes
staring at you
if I'm ever given money

she said
for birthday
or whatever
my dad takes it

and says I've been
too bad to have it
once he almost broke
my fingers open

to take coins
I was gripping
you tut-tutted
and looked away

as you rose higher
the trees of the park
and bushes
seemed miles

beneath you
and the other kids
on the see-saws
and ropes and sandpit

or on the tall
metal slide
seemed so small
and you remembered the time

Ingrid fell off
the ropes
and grazed her knees
and you helped her up

and helped her hobble
to the first-aid room
near the toilets
and the stern

middle aged woman
in charge there
helped her into the room  
and sat her on a chair

and you stood there staring
made a mess of these knees
ain't you deary
the woman said

best get you cleaned up
and she used cotton wool
and some purple smelly stuff  
to clean away

the stones and dirt
and blood
and as she lifted the leg
she saw a blue green bruise

on Ingrid's thigh
you have been in the wars
the woman said
with a shake

of her blonde
haired head
not wars
you thought

her old man's belt
more like
but never said
and Ingrid cried still

her face red
the woman's plump pink fingers
cleaning the knees
the blood seeping through

the cotton wool
and you
just standing there
giving it

your concerned
and boyish stare.

it usually starts with a canvas of white,
frowned upon,
but later, the canvas endears
     and makes anyone the flag-bearing
idiot to ensure that everyone: keeps marching,
    rather than procrastinating -
on and on and on...
    it's not out of defeatism -
                           regardless -
can you imagine Hamlet meeting Macbeth?
    i do, pretty much all the time,
that's why i am not: matrimonial.
    i can't think of having a woman and then
think of providing her a kettle, or
an ironing board...
                           'tis music, that gratifies the soul...
there's no: more more more! in music,
there's either eloquence... or silence...
such as the pleb-kindred musings
of someone who inherited a soul in
a different tongue, and the same inheritor,
dragging such fakery into the abyss...
on a navy pattern patent of St. Andrews:
Aphrodite sat and whispered -
that her heart stopped beating.
  punctuation marks, eye... worth a measure
unparalleled in man to ditto in
a millimetre, centimetre, kilometre...
and so forth...
but diacritical marks! a hot bagel conundrum!
are punctuation marks kindred of
diacritical marks?
to my suspicion, they are...
    Cow Gate... Edinburgh, where the filth
throngs in abandoned churches...
and everyone gesticulates: to a haggis
we'll just juggle... pardon pairing
ol' mctweed - we'll just juggle.
thankfully the anglicans didn't anticipate
anything having worth beyond a comma
with what went above a letter, rather than
in-between words;
    maybe the semicolon is a clue,
as to why it wasn't translated into
               diacritics? the Greeks are utilising
the "squared" version of punctuation...
why aren't you?
    borrowing from German i see...
let's take a word from German and hyphen!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
               what's the word?
  don't know... any skilled cobbler would
tell you: hoof! you cranky ol' *****!
and when did it matter to be "hateful" of women?
well... when someone mattered in saying:
that man desires to pass on his genes.
****! was i ever so vain as to claim a need
for passing my genes toward a chronology?
then again... what's the most important
logical compound that saturates and signifies
existentialism? etymology...
why? well... etymology is an incubator module...
it constricts the eyes to see what's
fervent in claiming building blocks...
the rest is bound to the neanderthal wall
called: Israel here... Palestine with balaclava
over there...
        you gonna count matchsticks with
a neanderthal before you create a campfire?
flint-stones away! bazooka that array
of fireworks! soundtrack provided by
Handel!
    so can i sop? Darwinism has exhausted
itself... but etymology hasn't...
we know that by proximity-resemblance
we turned to ape to shake, the narcissus...
and a thousand ape-**** tantrums later
we're mobilised reason...
         fair enough...
i still think ape is not worth a question
about concerning diapers...
how did the **** and bladder muscles
devolve, for the tongue to evolve...
my goodness!
       a trinity, holy! and glorified on
the groundwork of leeches succumbing to penance
and dieting!
        we gave away the prowess of
       a sturdy ****, to invite a strengthening
of the tongue, and subsequent amusement:
homosexuality... kangaroo fight-talk.
      but it got me going,
watching 20 useful idiots, and etymology.
some words aren't really bound to etymology,
as one can say: diacritical marks ensure
  that words (not sentences) are prescribed
ciphers of punctuational demand... or rhythm.
       the title? the diacritical mark used?
      Denmark in polish: Dania.
  England in polish: Anglia.
                  Germany in polish: Niemcy.
   Dane in polish: Duńczyk.
an englishman (anglo) in polish: anglik
  a german in polish: niemiec.
  orthography is orthodoxy, a strict authority,
orthography stresses when an when
diacritical marks ought to be used,
so it all looks pretty, and well dressed...
what's the synonym of orthography translated
into post-syllable punctuation?
       a dependency to create fakes...
we create these punctuation marks by faking
a breath... or keeping one under water...
   ... = just an ambiguity of trailing whereby
neither . nor , nor ; nor : really matter.
       they are though, indicators in how
one could write a whole book whereby
punctuation marks don't exist,
               or at least a chapter, like Joyce,
and everything would turn out
to be a drumroll crescendo of applause...
but then again, insert but one diacritical mark
into a body of Joyce's Ulysses or Finnegan's Wake...
and the whole thing disintegrates...
  just one diacritical mark on a letter,
and as sure as ****... the whole poncy
artifice of not using punctuation marks is
double exposure as to not have used
diacritical marks, and exposed the world
to Australian, American, Canadian,
New Zealander, Irvine Scōtish and Velsh...
      sure, what's the big deal?
the very subtle way of saying ethnic cleansing...
     no, not a leftist sorta: oh deary me
type of Mary Poppins...
      it's crass, because it's lazy...
and the fact that English creates so much
diacritical diversity, is because it doesn't use
it when encoding... which makes it perfect!
for emoticons and acronyms,
   and all manner of linguistic mayhem!
it was only about syllables mate... to be honest,
it only took a comma above a letter to
say whether it needed pinching a higher-tier
of a sound that originated in a ch sound...
never mind you eroding your memory
to say cheap vs. Chopin...
         and there goes bilbo baggins...
                             in a shopping trolley.

didn't apollo just love daphne
or it was a ****** thing?
didn't zeus cheat on hera?
that's for sure, my deary.
but my love for you is real
like demeter loved her daughter
so the times she left her mother
autumn came along,
and then the winter,
all so cold.


in the deepest land
you'll ever see
where king of death
have lived for many years
where he keeps her as a prisoner
persephone's just,
for good,
his slave.


slaves of gods
that's what humans are
they've got no point
on their decisions
cause in olympus
they're not born.


the most beautiful
goddess couldn't archive
the goals she wanted
with hephaestus,
the ugly one
in the night her husband
saw her lying on a bed
with mars, god of war,
screamed both of their names.


if titans hadn't been so rough
their sons and daughters
wouldn't have done that
keeping them in jails
so they couldn't escape
from the tartarus,
under the hades,
now they are the slaves.


and now let's go back
to the beginning
when the nymphs heard
her screams
trying to escape
from the handsomest god

              turning her into laurel,

      not letting her live anymore.

Waiting for the light to fade in

Slowly engulfing

And blinding

I see stars fighting the rising white light

Everything shines at the start of this new forever day.



Another lie is made, shipped,and sold

Lining the liar's pockets with silver and gold

More people are bought off with luxuries

They're told they can't live without

Those who resist die without a doubt.



I float up to your wake upon a river of lilies

Guilty and numb, I cannot accept your fate

Harboring resentment towards callous reality

Your face is a bismuth white, riving in bitter sunlight

My terrible words could never hold sway, because you died yesterday.



If I could only chance upon one wish, may it be that existence not be such a *****

Have it be that gentle yet honest, kind yet resolving solitude and bliss

last longer than the oppressive itch of so many soulless *****

And let it be known that I love you all, who so care for those who feel helpless and small

Because that is the greatest gift of all, Life and Death are friends and do not simply began and end

At the gates of the garden we have fenced ourselves in.



We will rise out of dust like stars that fought the white of nothing and won the rivers of dark matter to Border The night sky we see within our horizon

A seemingly endless night of heart and starlight

We cannot even began to imagine the limitlessness of our womb the heavens

So we spear the skies with our ****** dreams soaring high into cosmic birthing~place



We'll bleed in honor of the colors that streak across The Moon and Antarctica.

I love all your open hearts teaming with life upon life and death upon death

Let us rise, up over the shadows of our steel cages and deary trappings

And meet the fluttering tree of life.

I am but a shell
What's inside you cannot tell
I am simply ordinary
Inner beauty quite contrary
To the previous remark
You view me as quote "stark"
In my mind you're bleak and dreary
Still I believe within you deary
Is an acute flicker of light
Just waiting to ignite
A thousand possibilities
Across the endless seven seas
If only you could invision
A world outside the television
A place within yourself
Imagination on the shelf
Dust it off and change perspectives
See how another being lives
Not in your head but in theirs
Though you'll grow tired climbing stairs
Reaching for the tip top of perfection
Praying for some form of protection
Against the vibrance within the soul
Colored red, orange, blue, pink, gold
But see no one out there knows
That inside us all it glows
We want our true colors out
Yet withold them with such doubt
Yes, I am but a shell.
But, tell me...aren't you as well?

talk to me, talk to me.
tell me your fears of love and lust.
relax and rejoice,
i sense your shattered trust.
come close my deary,
don’t be weary,
ignore the outside noise
make the best choice
and listen only to my voice

talk to me, talk to me.
tell me your fears of the dark and cold.
be calm and composed
whose hand will you hold?
who else, but me?
what else, but we?
bring forth the enclosed
heart you oppose
and make it disposed.

talk to me, talk to me.
tell me your fears.

It's a cycle
You hurt me and I'll become you
There isn't anything to prevent this
I've never been much to conform
You shaped me from the start
Hollow and fragile
Someone broke you.
You put me on the verge of shatter
Small cracks form on the edges
Nothing but a breeze could make it crumble.
I'm you and you ****** all me out.
You get my pain now baby.
Have fun with the bits you thought you'd get.
I can be a ***** too
There isn't anything you can have now it's been empty for years
Nothing worth waiting for
Jokes on you sweetie
Hope you have fun with everything you've obtained
I'll be sure to pass on your good grief
Next adventure with surely get enough to spare
If anyone deserves my love it'd be you deary
Have fun with all my love
There's quite a bit
Good luck trying to control it now that you've taken it all.

Oh those dixie paper cup
Forgotten childhood love
Dead dead heart
Dead dead soul above
Wake up deary, now
Story book picture bow
A great job done
Illegal fun
Before word gets out

Someone said wake up
Someone said get out
Mirror dreams and fever parts
Damp rememberings
Softly summer breeze
With lilac smell
Feeding bees

He picked me up hitchhiking on Tylerfoote Xing
My years were twenty, headphones on and moshing
I sported cut-offs and my "Docs" on that stubborn hot day
My Mohawk was three colors, I was an obvious gay

Allen Ginsberg 1984 in front of Ma Trux
He pulled over in a dust cloud, this was my luck
"Where are you headed?" said he, "I'm on my way to SF"
"Just to town." said me, "that's far enough."

"Where are you from?" came a chortle with this query
"From New Jersey I hail, how 'bout you my deary?"
A gaff of a laugh came then and two words, "me too."
"Oh really?" came my sarcasm, "How lucky for you."

"To escape," I finished then a gaffing  stabbed further
He looked so odd, my fear was, " I hope I'm not murdered."
Obviously much older, a bit pudgy and bald
When he told me his name it meant nothing at all

Said he was from Newark, this did not impress me either
"Me? Camden," though he might guess from my wife-beater
"What's that music you've got?" said my chauffeur
"A mixed tape. The Clash, DK's and Psychedelic Furs"

"Pop it in the dash, lets have a listen my friend."
As he glared at my flesh, I thought, "this is my end"
He popped it out almost immediately and declared
"This is awful and loud, your generation makes me scared!"
  
We argued a bit about music and art
"Patti Smith is the greatest poet!" I told the old ****
"She's from Jersey too, like Walt Whitman and us."
Allen's reply, "Oh really, what's the fuss?"

"Whitman comes from Camden, I'm a poet like him"
Ginsberg said, "oh yeah, well let's hear some Slim"
So I began to recite from "Leaves Of Grass"
"Not Walt! Give me yours kid, I don't want to hear him, you ***."

So I threw at him my most recent, "Angel With A Pool Que"
He complimented me so nicely, I believed he spoke true
"Ever hear of Howl? I'm a poet too."
He recited dozens of lines and I thought "p-u"

My offer was, "It needs some work"
His exclamation was, "Do you know who I am, you ****?
I'm Allen Ginsberg, you mean you haven't heard of me?"
I exclaimed my name back, boldly emoting "don't you see?"

We laughed together it was a joyous moment in time
Then his hand moved to my knee as he blurted some rhyme
I picked it right up and placed it back on the steer
"If that's what you want Sir, I can walk from here"

He stopped his car there in the middle of the 49 highway
"I mean you no harm young man, I assumed you were gay"
I explained, "Of course I am, but we are not going there"
He was a perfect gentleman then on, with out even a swear

I inquired with my friends when I got to town
Of this charming old poet I left with a frown
They jumped and spun and called me "**** crazy"
One handed me Howl in hard cover; I felt dim as a daisy

*******,
dry heave,
dry eyes -
all on me.
I'm a picture
I'm your paint.
Smeary me, deary
to show that you love me.

Sometime acceptance is key to forget about what took the heart's hold.
May of fold, for everything in front of you that you behold.
Cherish what still may accumulate from this cursed concept of time.
Rehearse this mere delusion as it just another illusion illustrated between bonds you may not be fond of, but it will be fine.
Push through and don't miscue.
Remember the solace in the heart but don't take forgranted it's expression.
As it very much may so be your lesson.
Times ran deary, release the fury that no longer serves you.
Don't let the tension of nerves breaththrough.
Rest in a new awake, and don't forsake a new day's break. -marty.

A weekend of chasing snails over the garden gate.
A never ending stream of work, fell from a pretty pen.
Indecorous facts of undressed penance.
The woman needs to rest in peace.
Oh deary me.
Or maybe dreary me.
There's too much for this girl to do.
Tap tap, rock, rock.
leans over the desk.
All this work is rather mean.
Emptied my drawers, found all that was lost.
A little amendment.....one hell of a cost.
and so I carry on.
Added a few new bits to boot.
Out with the printer and huge old box files.
She breathes insignificant, but some how still smiles.
Much better to have kept up to date.
You know what I mean mate?
(C) Livvi

Thunder rolling over head
Hunching over the deary man said
"Everything is a lie"

Delirious from a modern revelation
Effecting his push to move on
Among the many weary from thought
The thought of the millions of piles
He is allowed to stand upon

"Oh god what are their names, dear
    god please tell"
For the foundation is built, upon the
    blood we till

All while the cycle repeats

Hundreds of millions of individuals
    we pile high
Uttering senseless words in a unifying
    cry
"May I always be alone in this mass"
"Belonging to a useless lower class"
"Love me always for I endured"
"Every hardships to try to keep
    pure"

"My god how many are there" the
    dreary man asked
Anonymous characters looked at him
    from the past
Never tainted by the words of history

I storm out
And take a walk
It's quiet
Although it's dark

I need to clear
My head
And think this
Through

How will I know
If I can
Do all this?

When y'all shut
Me out, you
******* a kiss

You say
Don't worry
Deary
This is not your fight
But I do know the truth

I don't need this anymore
There aren't any tears to fall
This stress is eating on me
Even though I shouldn't be feeling
Like this

I get tired
Of wondering
Well I see
Another day?

I sit down
And looked ahead
I see the clouds drifting
The sun shining

Oh, even though this ain't my fight
What you're doing isn't right
Don't shut me out, let's talk
Let's sit down calmly, don't be a spoilsport

What would you do
It there ain't tomorrow
What would you do
If I weren't there
What would you do
If I didn't care
About you
What would you do
I want to ask you coz

I guess I don't really care
All because you're not there
I don't feel sad, down, or blue
Coz I how I'll get through this!

I play it off
Because I don't wanna seem
Weak
But you
And your little boy toy
Are horrible people
To trick me
To stick a knife in my
Barely healing wound
That deary can end the little friendship we had
And it did
I try to stay away
I cringe when you and him are near
I hate what he's made you
Hate what you've become
I live my life though
Knowing I told someone
Knowing I finally
Told the truth
And I smile knowing
You'll both burn in hell.

Come blow away the deary leaves of Winter
          scattered everywhere

Wash the dust from all the dead and dying
          green of spring magnifying

Bathe the Earth in Rainbow
          colored hope

I got a taste
Of your absence
From my life
When I woke up
With my eyes wet
And hands clenched
Visions of your leaving
Swirling in my head
I became stone
And not one part of me
Wanted to move
Afraid I may crack
But only after
I fought through the
Haze of last night
I realize I was only dreaming
My heart is removed
From the guillotine
And relief washes
Over my stiff body
Oh deary, this isn't
The first time
My dreams have
Pained me like this

Our past does not define us
Our futures are unwritten
Our present is a gift
Life is uncertain

History books cannot teach
What you have taught to me
Tarrot cards cannot predict
What is ment to be

And as for my present, deary
I am thankful you are here
Without you I would be fragile
I would shed my many tears

At day we can run
And in dreams we may lay
On fields of jade green grass
And listen to what we say

So this present darling
Is exactly that
Every day is a gift with you
I promise not to hold back

Walking alone, even if it's only a mile--
Though you'd have wine, bread and cream--
The journey would be weary, and very dreary
Would life to thee be without a lone smile;
Howbeit if you've gotten by Grace a deary,
A companion sweet, though you should walk
A thousand miles together; yet it would seem
Like a furlong as you both are cheeringly talk-
Ing sans the comforts of chocolate and chicken,
Save for water and crisps into pieces broken.

It was a quick setup, couldn't have been a huge mess up
When I start to speak to you, an evolution of fusion is at bay
And when you talk back the right way, good feelings are given way
And then you begin to open up to me and I to you

I have a responsibility to reflect the best version of myself
I have an uncontrollable inclination to divulge the worst version of myself
When the script was changed so were the norms
The royals did not know what it meant to live in the shadows anymore
Too good to believe in divinity
Too proud and glamorous to believe in a Divine Source

Then man and woman soon forgets what it means to earn one's keep
Quickly there would be thieves as the gap widens
So position will determine what you get and don't get, away with ethics

Imagine we all have roles to portray in this big stage we call the world
Then you forget about your significance, just for the role
You forget about your social class, just for the role
You forget about your achievements or failures, all for the role

Then you develop synergy
Then a male lover will have a female lover because the feeling is reciprocated
Nothing is forced or rigidly implanted
The heart is free to dance and the mind is surrendering to rhyme and reason

Then I begin to weigh the value of each word in every sentence
I develop a composition, an attunement
I awaken the music of the soul
And how I associate will reflect in my dialogue
The moving picture is dying
There are more emoticons and stills because people are not grounded to the immortal strands of creation
So they struggle with locomotion
It stretches into the mind and you see this as brain cells oscillate slower and slower
And the race becomes more and more robotic - static
Bye bye to the angels in adamic bodies

What I am saying is how can I impart parts of myself if you do not compliment my make up
Not because I am superior but because you have been indoctrinated to yield to an inferiority complex that has channeled you to believe that you are good for nothing
And this has garnered a fortress hollow inviting false gods and a negative attitude,
A laziness to believe in yourself and honour your ambition

... And worst of all you are not compelled to go on a journey of self discovery because you are waiting for someone else  to tell you to do so
Rustically I would be a hunter and you a gatherer, but you cannot contain my collections if you have no pots and if you're not ready for me to shelter your soul
So how do we conversate
More than a postulate I conclude you just have to expand your emotional vocabulary
Or I just have to get used to being quiet
And that's fine with me... Food for my peace of mind
But humbly deary, don't say I wasn't kind to rewind
How and what I did impart at the start of the box.

The gate keeper
Has lost her key
Hey ** what will,
Will be.
Me and you
We all live on
I don't give a ****
If they get it all wrong,
The rich are the powerful,
Manipulate with twisted tongue.
Joe public are always hung
Dance to a tune for at least
Four years
Oh deary me oh dear dear dear

The patterns of
Glimmering light
Refracted in the bubble
Droplets dangling
     Off a glass pane,
A rough skirmish
     Of splintering wood
     Stained by age and
          The sea
Washing in still waves below,
Neither of which reflect
The brilliancy of
     White washed sheets
Baked in a vanilla scent
     And a tidal quiver
     Of fingers shaking
At the anticipation
That they may
Caress skin half silk
With patches of sand,
Warm in the sun
That looms behind
Gray fog over a pale
     Blue, seeping from
The cracks that
Scatter about a space
So infinitely random,

Lips bruised from
A night needing no moon
     To shine away
Dusk creeping up
     From pine-needled soil,
Kissing with bare
     Chests and thinking
     With flickering eyes
That so seemingly
Match that of a candle's
     Shadowy counterpart
In the enveloping
Elegance of a deary
Dance to the world
     Soaking wet,
While darling,
We lay amongst
     Boxes of sheets
In our chests
And days without
So much as the rest
Of the beating amp
Inside our ribs,
     Shaking our hair
Bedazzled with milky
     Morning twilight
Dispersed through an
     Array of sleeping giants,
Gently weeping away
The toxicity of daily hustle,
Cotton legs and
Arms made of satin rope,
     Wearing the indifferences
     In the fibers of pasts
     Evaporated and sprouting next spring,
Flower crowns and fireplaces,
     Murky waters and the shiver

As you trace your fingernail
     Across the peak of my collarbone.

A lost angel stumbled into the hallway.
I gazed at her lovely all encompassing ***,
that fit perfectly into those pristine blue jeans.

She had no clue until I had firmly squeezed.
I whispered softly “shhh deary don’t you scream.”
Then she tried to hit me but well she still couldn’t see.
So I made a quick escape and I hid myself away.

For nearly two days I quietly studied my sweet prey.
I learned everything including the place that she lived,
and I paid her a visit but long story short…….
A restraining order is the purest form of love.