O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm!
All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm,
And shadowy, through the mist of passed years:
For others, good or bad, hatred and tears
Have become indolent; but touching thine,
One sigh doth echo, one poor sob doth pine,
One kiss brings honey-dew from buried days.
The woes of Troy, towers smothering o'er their blaze,
Stiff-holden shields, far-piercing spears, keen blades,
Struggling, and blood, and shrieks--all dimly fades
Into some backward corner of the brain;
Yet, in our very souls, we feel amain
The close of Troilus and Cressid sweet.
Hence, pageant history! hence, gilded cheat!
Swart planet in the universe of deeds!
Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds
Along the pebbled shore of memory!
Many old rotten-timber'd boats there be
Upon thy vaporous *****, magnified
To goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,
And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd and dry.
But wherefore this? What care, though owl did fly
About the great Athenian admiral's mast?
What care, though striding Alexander past
The Indus with his Macedonian numbers?
Though old Ulysses tortured from his slumbers
The glutted Cyclops, what care?--Juliet leaning
Amid her window-flowers,--sighing,--weaning
Tenderly her fancy from its maiden snow,
Doth more avail than these: the silver flow
Of Hero's tears, the swoon of Imogen,
Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den,
Are things to brood on with more ardency
Than the death-day of empires. Fearfully
Must such conviction come upon his head,
Who, thus far, discontent, has dared to tread,
Without one muse's smile, or kind behest,
The path of love and poesy. But rest,
In chaffing restlessness, is yet more drear
Than to be crush'd, in striving to uprear
Love's standard on the battlements of song.
So once more days and nights aid me along,
Like legion'd soldiers.

                        Brain-sick shepherd-prince,
What promise hast thou faithful guarded since
The day of sacrifice? Or, have new sorrows
Come with the constant dawn upon thy morrows?
Alas! 'tis his old grief. For many days,
Has he been wandering in uncertain ways:
Through wilderness, and woods of mossed oaks;
Counting his woe-worn minutes, by the strokes
Of the lone woodcutter; and listening still,
Hour after hour, to each lush-leav'd rill.
Now he is sitting by a shady spring,
And elbow-deep with feverous *******
Stems the upbursting cold: a wild rose tree
Pavilions him in bloom, and he doth see
A bud which snares his fancy: lo! but now
He plucks it, dips its stalk in the water: how!
It swells, it buds, it flowers beneath his sight;
And, in the middle, there is softly pight
A golden butterfly; upon whose wings
There must be surely character'd strange things,
For with wide eye he wonders, and smiles oft.

  Lightly this little herald flew aloft,
Follow'd by glad Endymion's clasped hands:
Onward it flies. From languor's sullen bands
His limbs are loos'd, and eager, on he hies
Dazzled to trace it in the sunny skies.
It seem'd he flew, the way so easy was;
And like a new-born spirit did he pass
Through the green evening quiet in the sun,
O'er many a heath, through many a woodland dun,
Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams
The summer time away. One track unseams
A wooded cleft, and, far away, the blue
Of ocean fades upon him; then, anew,
He sinks adown a solitary glen,
Where there was never sound of mortal men,
Saving, perhaps, some snow-light cadences
Melting to silence, when upon the breeze
Some holy bark let forth an anthem sweet,
To cheer itself to Delphi. Still his feet
Went swift beneath the merry-winged guide,
Until it reached a splashing fountain's side
That, near a cavern's mouth, for ever pour'd
Unto the temperate air: then high it soar'd,
And, downward, suddenly began to dip,
As if, athirst with so much toil, 'twould sip
The crystal spout-head: so it did, with touch
Most delicate, as though afraid to smutch
Even with mealy gold the waters clear.
But, at that very touch, to disappear
So fairy-quick, was strange! Bewildered,
Endymion sought around, and shook each bed
Of covert flowers in vain; and then he flung
Himself along the grass. What gentle tongue,
What whisperer disturb'd his gloomy rest?
It was a nymph uprisen to the breast
In the fountain's pebbly margin, and she stood
'**** lilies, like the youngest of the brood.
To him her dripping hand she softly kist,
And anxiously began to plait and twist
Her ringlets round her fingers, saying: "Youth!
Too long, alas, hast thou starv'd on the ruth,
The bitterness of love: too long indeed,
Seeing thou art so gentle. Could I ****
Thy soul of care, by heavens, I would offer
All the bright riches of my crystal coffer
To Amphitrite; all my clear-eyed fish,
Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish,
Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze;
Yea, or my veined pebble-floor, that draws
A ****** light to the deep; my grotto-sands
Tawny and gold, ooz'd slowly from far lands
By my diligent springs; my level lilies, shells,
My charming rod, my potent river spells;
Yes, every thing, even to the pearly cup
Meander gave me,--for I bubbled up
To fainting creatures in a desert wild.
But woe is me, I am but as a child
To gladden thee; and all I dare to say,
Is, that I pity thee; that on this day
I've been thy guide; that thou must wander far
In other regions, past the scanty bar
To mortal steps, before thou cans't be ta'en
From every wasting sigh, from every pain,
Into the gentle ***** of thy love.
Why it is thus, one knows in heaven above:
But, a poor Naiad, I guess not. Farewel!
I have a ditty for my hollow cell."

  Hereat, she vanished from Endymion's gaze,
Who brooded o'er the water in amaze:
The dashing fount pour'd on, and where its pool
Lay, half asleep, in grass and rushes cool,
Quick waterflies and gnats were sporting still,
And fish were dimpling, as if good nor ill
Had fallen out that hour. The wanderer,
Holding his forehead, to keep off the burr
Of smothering fancies, patiently sat down;
And, while beneath the evening's sleepy frown
Glow-worms began to trim their starry lamps,
Thus breath'd he to himself: "Whoso encamps
To take a fancied city of delight,
O what a wretch is he! and when 'tis his,
After long toil and travelling, to miss
The kernel of his hopes, how more than vile:
Yet, for him there's refreshment even in toil;
Another city doth he set about,
Free from the smallest pebble-bead of doubt
That he will seize on trickling honey-combs:
Alas, he finds them dry; and then he foams,
And onward to another city speeds.
But this is human life: the war, the deeds,
The disappointment, the anxiety,
Imagination's struggles, far and nigh,
All human; bearing in themselves this good,
That they are sill the air, the subtle food,
To make us feel existence, and to shew
How quiet death is. Where soil is men grow,
Whether to weeds or flowers; but for me,
There is no depth to strike in: I can see
Nought earthly worth my compassing; so stand
Upon a misty, jutting head of land--
Alone? No, no; and by the Orphean lute,
When mad Eurydice is listening to 't;
I'd rather stand upon this misty peak,
With not a thing to sigh for, or to seek,
But the soft shadow of my thrice-seen love,
Than be--I care not what. O meekest dove
Of heaven! O Cynthia, ten-times bright and fair!
From thy blue throne, now filling all the air,
Glance but one little beam of temper'd light
Into my *****, that the dreadful might
And tyranny of love be somewhat scar'd!
Yet do not so, sweet queen; one torment spar'd,
Would give a pang to jealous misery,
Worse than the torment's self: but rather tie
Large wings upon my shoulders, and point out
My love's far dwelling. Though the playful rout
Of Cupids shun thee, too divine art thou,
Too keen in beauty, for thy silver prow
Not to have dipp'd in love's most gentle stream.
O be propitious, nor severely deem
My madness impious; for, by all the stars
That tend thy bidding, I do think the bars
That kept my spirit in are burst--that I
Am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!
How beautiful thou art! The world how deep!
How tremulous-dazzlingly the wheels sweep
Around their axle! Then these gleaming reins,
How lithe! When this thy chariot attains
Is airy goal, haply some bower veils
Those twilight eyes? Those eyes!--my spirit fails--
Dear goddess, help! or the wide-gaping air
Will gulph me--help!"--At this with madden'd stare,
And lifted hands, and trembling lips he stood;
Like old Deucalion mountain'd o'er the flood,
Or blind Orion hungry for the morn.
And, but from the deep cavern there was borne
A voice, he had been froze to senseless stone;
Nor sigh of his, nor plaint, nor passion'd moan
Had more been heard. Thus swell'd it forth: "Descend,
Young mountaineer! descend where alleys bend
Into the sparry hollows of the world!
Oft hast thou seen bolts of the thunder hurl'd
As from thy threshold, day by day hast been
A little lower than the chilly sheen
Of icy pinnacles, and dipp'dst thine arms
Into the deadening ether that still charms
Their marble being: now, as deep profound
As those are high, descend! He ne'er is crown'd
With immortality, who fears to follow
Where airy voices lead: so through the hollow,
The silent mysteries of earth, descend!"

  He heard but the last words, nor could contend
One moment in reflection: for he fled
Into the fearful deep, to hide his head
From the clear moon, the trees, and coming madness.

  'Twas far too strange, and wonderful for sadness;
Sharpening, by degrees, his appetite
To dive into the deepest. Dark, nor light,
The region; nor bright, nor sombre wholly,
But mingled up; a gleaming melancholy;
A dusky empire and its diadems;
One faint eternal eventide of gems.
Aye, millions sparkled on a vein of gold,
Along whose track the prince quick footsteps told,
With all its lines abrupt and angular:
Out-shooting sometimes, like a meteor-star,
Through a vast antre; then the metal woof,
Like Vulcan's rainbow, with some monstrous roof
Curves hugely: now, far in the deep abyss,
It seems an angry lightning, and doth hiss
Fancy into belief: anon it leads
Through winding passages, where sameness breeds
Vexing conceptions of some sudden change;
Whether to silver grots, or giant range
Of sapphire columns, or fantastic bridge
Athwart a flood of crystal. On a ridge
Now fareth he, that o'er the vast beneath
Towers like an ocean-cliff, and whence he seeth
A hundred waterfalls, whose voices come
But as the murmuring surge. Chilly and numb
His ***** grew, when first he, far away,
Descried an orbed diamond, set to fray
Old darkness from his throne: 'twas like the sun
Uprisen o'er chaos: and with such a stun
Came the amazement, that, absorb'd in it,
He saw not fiercer wonders--past the wit
Of any spirit to tell, but one of those
Who, when this planet's sphering time doth close,
Will be its high remembrancers: who they?
The mighty ones who have made eternal day
For Greece and England. While astonishment
With deep-drawn sighs was quieting, he went
Into a marble gallery, passing through
A mimic temple, so complete and true
In sacred custom, that he well nigh fear'd
To search it inwards, whence far off appear'd,
Through a long pillar'd vista, a fair shrine,
And, just beyond, on light tiptoe divine,
A quiver'd Dian. Stepping awfully,
The youth approach'd; oft turning his veil'd eye
Down sidelong aisles, and into niches old.
And when, more near against the marble cold
He had touch'd his forehead, he began to thread
All courts and passages, where silence dead
Rous'd by his whispering footsteps murmured faint:
And long he travers'd to and fro, to acquaint
Himself with every mystery, and awe;
Till, weary, he sat down before the maw
Of a wide outlet, fathomless and dim
To wild uncertainty and shadows grim.
There, when new wonders ceas'd to float before,
And thoughts of self came on, how crude and sore
The journey homeward to habitual self!
A mad-pursuing of the fog-born elf,
Whose flitting lantern, through rude nettle-briar,
Cheats us into a swamp, into a fire,
Into the ***** of a hated thing.

  What misery most drowningly doth sing
In lone Endymion's ear, now he has caught
The goal of consciousness? Ah, 'tis the thought,
The deadly feel of solitude: for lo!
He cannot see the heavens, nor the flow
Of rivers, nor hill-flowers running wild
In pink and purple chequer, nor, up-pil'd,
The cloudy rack slow journeying in the west,
Like herded elephants; nor felt, nor prest
Cool grass, nor tasted the fresh slumberous air;
But far from such companionship to wear
An unknown time, surcharg'd with grief, away,
Was now his lot. And must he patient stay,
Tracing fantastic figures with his spear?
"No!" exclaimed he, "why should I tarry here?"
No! loudly echoed times innumerable.
At which he straightway started, and 'gan tell
His paces back into the temple's chief;
Warming and glowing strong in the belief
Of help from Dian: so that when again
He caught her airy form, thus did he plain,
Moving more near the while. "O Haunter chaste
Of river sides, and woods, and heathy waste,
Where with thy silver bow and arrows keen
Art thou now forested? O woodland Queen,
What smoothest air thy smoother forehead woos?
Where dost thou listen to the wide halloos
Of thy disparted nymphs? Through what dark tree
Glimmers thy crescent? Wheresoe'er it be,
'Tis in the breath of heaven: thou dost taste
Freedom as none can taste it, nor dost waste
Thy loveliness in dismal elements;
But, finding in our green earth sweet contents,
There livest blissfully. Ah, if to thee
It feels Elysian, how rich to me,
An exil'd mortal, sounds its pleasant name!
Within my breast there lives a choking flame--
O let me cool it among the zephyr-boughs!
A homeward fever parches up my tongue--
O let me slake it at the running springs!
Upon my ear a noisy nothing rings--
O let me once more hear the linnet's note!
Before mine eyes thick films and shadows float--
O let me 'noint them with the heaven's light!
Dost thou now lave thy feet and ankles white?
O think how sweet to me the freshening sluice!
Dost thou now please thy thirst with berry-juice?
O think how this dry palate would rejoice!
If in soft slumber thou dost hear my voice,
Oh think how I should love a bed of flowers!--
Young goddess! let me see my native bowers!
Deliver me from this rapacious deep!"

  Thus ending loudly, as he would o'erleap
His destiny, alert he stood: but when
Obstinate silence came heavily again,
Feeling about for its old couch of space
And airy cradle, lowly bow'd his face
Desponding, o'er the marble floor's cold thrill.
But 'twas not long; for, sweeter than the rill
To its old channel, or a swollen tide
To margin sallows, were the leaves he spied,
And flowers, and wreaths, and ready myrtle crowns
Up heaping through the slab: refreshment drowns
Itself, and strives its own delights to hide--
Nor in one spot alone; the floral pride
In a long whispering birth enchanted grew
Before his footsteps; as when heav'd anew
Old ocean rolls a lengthened wave to the shore,
Down whose green back the short-liv'd foam, all ****,
Bursts gradual, with a wayward indolence.

  Increasing still in heart, and pleasant sense,
Upon his fairy journey on he hastes;
So anxious for the end, he scarcely wastes
One moment with his hand among the sweets:
Onward he goes--he stops--his ***** beats
As plainly in his ear, as the faint charm
Of which the throbs were born. This still alarm,
This sleepy music, forc'd him walk tiptoe:
For it came more softly than the east could blow
Arion's magic to the Atlantic isles;
Or than the west, made jealous by the smiles
Of thron'd Apollo, could breathe back the lyre
To seas Ionian and Tyrian.

  O did he ever live, that lonely man,
Who lov'd--and music slew not? 'Tis the pest
Of love, that fairest joys give most unrest;
That things of delicate and tenderest worth
Are swallow'd all, and made a seared dearth,
By one consuming flame: it doth immerse
And suffocate true blessings in a curse.
Half-happy, by comparison of bliss,
Is miserable. 'Twas even so with this
Dew-dropping melody, in the Carian's ear;
First heaven, then hell, and then forgotten clear,
Vanish'd in elemental passion.

  And down some swart abysm he had gone,
Had not a heavenly guide benignant led
To where thick myrt

life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.



where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr

love is rebel

when maddening rush of waves in sea
pound upon rocks obliterating all reverence
and meekest lilies bud in deserts to destroy
drowsy, shrivelled spirits of arid expanse

winds hum a song

and ballad of crimson bleeds from skylark's beak
as millennia of smoldering agony melt the furnace
of a gasping heart stomped upon by boots of time
weary, tired of burning for this world

i turn to you

chasing the merriest dream shut against an eye
of a frail romance, seeking a moment's solace
in tender touch of your silvery hue
lest my soul discern emptiness of my being

and turn blind without

caress of blissful light streaming down divinity
of a paradise which shall be home to lovers
in a moment something akin to blossoms fair
and be named the marvel of a moonlit sky

but how you only part

with moment lapsing into oblivion like a stream
housing ripples which fade into obscurity
as you flowing ride seaward along noiseless breezes
only to rest in nethers of a watery labyrinth

and doomed to burn

i part ways till my beloved's sleep grieves upon
dark stillness of heart as garish rays burn alight;
fill the land with a curtain of longing;
await your blissful countenance at twilight

beyond a chore of night and day

indulge in gleaming splendour of a festival
witnessed by angels and mortals alike
amid fleeting tenderness that paints our wispy sky
with a rosy blush, we seek each other

wriggling along

emptiness of space and hallucinate
a glittering spread of stars half asleep or coy
while celestial arena dumbfounded by our mutinous flight
gazes at two Gods sailing, sinking in each others arms

do humans plead and pray

wrought with sorrow, wish away the ill omen
turning glorious light to abominable darkness
as if life betrayed the vanquished spirit of
terrorized souls shouting, beating pots and drums

should someone tell the world

and those beseeching mercy from heavens
escape is a wing endowed to dream
through eyes of a lover which turn to riot
illuminate the darkness of a lifetime's longing

tell them dearie, tell them now

to the chanting, screaming vengeful barbarians
we're a tangle of coldly breathed sighs in lonesome nights
a mad rush of blooming desire grew tired of servility
wrapped inside the ring of black burning passion

we are the embrace

frozen in background of a singular nothingness
for which seems like an eternity but which shall
only last for a desperate twinkle of time
while savoured feasts of memories brew in our being

but long as we are bound

baited to the hook of grand order
crunched and gnashed under weight of divine province
we will part in an eye's blink again
like melody turned to a moan

-- the sun

100

A science—so the Savants say,
“Comparative Anatomy”—
By which a single bone—
Is made a secret to unfold
Of some rare tenant of the mold,
Else perished in the stone—

So to the eye prospective led,
This meekest flower of the mead
Upon a winter’s day,
Stands representative in gold
Of Rose and Lily, manifold,
And countless Butterfly!

We desire the things that will destroy us in the end

It's funny how we protect those who hurt us I think it's because we think there constantly trying to change that imperfection we have with in us how ironic

They told me it would be fun I wouldn't ever forget the feeling, this feeling, they said I'd be cool if I did it, and how I feel cool  the cold night air as soft as cotton when it touches my skin but as sharp as knives as the cool cuts to the bone I can see every thing clear as day as if the sun was at my back showing me a new perspective I think that's why I can see the stars shiny behind the thick clouds. I can almost hear them whisper their singing heavenly tunes with the rushing river playing percussion with the river rocks which drummed and the claps of the rips which match every color I've ever seen even the new ones in front of me

i feel like i could fly and belive me i tried every time i landed the grass under my bare cold feet were having tickle  fights with my toes there rugged wet tips almost like a dogs tounge licked and my soles they were winning, I the meekest of the meek was now the king of all I Survey and as I watched my kingdom of color, shape and sound they started to take shape of my "friends" all laughing with tears in there eyes I thought it was another one of my renditions of how I perceive things them seemed so real I could almost feel their breaths as they laughed even more hysterically their laughter seemed to shack me to my core so I called out to ask what was the joke

the sky spits at me with great disgust I want to ask why but I could not hear my self over the now screams of my "friends" they matched the screams of banshies and nails on a chalk board I mixture of millions of off pitch  piano keys I was In pain a pain I had never experienced before it was every were on my body no fixed place no origin site but raw utter pain I held with all my might it still was no competition for there screeches, I wanted so much to rip off my ears but befor I could for a brief moment i felt at peace one with all and all in me then every thing went black no songs now vivid colors no feeling of anything just darkness then when I woke I saw a bright light took me a second to realize I was back to normal the sun was up but it did not greet me the grass was cool but it didn't fight I felt lonely I check my phone for any massages,

"how was it""do you want more" I  thought about all the hell I went through all the pain I felt then I remembered that feeling I wanted to feel it again no I needed to feel it again so with out a second thought I answered "yes"  it's funny how we want what will destroy us in the end it's just human nature

(the poem, the story intends to reveal,
or vice versa, the story I'm told is very old)

Seven silent days of shiva, sort of premature,

sitting with one called their friend,
our friend, as we watch, from now

from here
we know the daysman,
we observers in mind,

flies on sores, flies on walls, we can use their eyes

we can pity the comforters and the comfortless moan,

Come into my comfort zone, cries Job. What comfort?

Why me?
was answered,
Job looks our way and winks, an a side,

I invited the daysman, he says,
but only ere knowing God almighty

knows,
and the accuser of man,
whom mine symbolizes,

knows not,
how it is to be a mortal man,
wombed or un.

Would God there were a daysman betwixt us.
I said, unaware,
completely of any good news on its way my way

I coulda said nothing, had I known

Would God there were a daysman betwixt us.
I said, I thought,
So I can
wonder whys and hows, ask where truth abides in what men have
imagined, what drew the sweetness, what drew pain,

is luck a factor? Sacred making, did we get that wrong?

Seems is as it seems to be, here.

This is not afterlife, this is life, today.

This day's daysman twixt truth and lie,
in the meta game, he is neither

archaic warden of loafing warrior's watchtower,

or miller minding the grinding, seeing

all who labor,
they shall eat.

Who legislates tradition? Meek or mighty?

******* speaks: ax Moses.

Fair, that's fair. Meekest man God knew,
some of his works
could be cut and paste, that's fine,
he wrote the rules in his day.

He can be the referee, the daysman in this game.

A mediator for fools who only ever knew lies.
A man who once was a speechless babe.

A referee who makes the rules? Jesus, can we cheat?

This is leaven? We loosed leaven? Jo-bob, we didit!
Jesus H. Christ! The bomb.

Once enacted the package never stops,
as long as there is that which can be leavened,
it shall be leavened.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like that.

===
No, life isn't fair. The good guys won the metagame,
quite a while ago.

But, if you ain't in the game, you wouldn't agree.
Time will tell. What the hell, wait and see.
Merry Christmas.

You tell me on facebook "ily, bby"
Not even taking the time to type it out...

You ask me constantly if I am going to leave
I lay in bed crying at night because you forget me

So many guys want to be in my life that it hurts...
It hurts that I have to break their trusting gaze

Because I'm looking towards you...
Looking, hoping praying that your love is true

When I met you I told you to call me Kitty or Blue
But instead you call me by my real name, something few people do

When we first got together we were hotter then fire and gasoline
Now we're barely a half empty lighter on a chain smoker

When did things fade away? When did things start to change?
When did you finally get sick of being with me?

You still tell me you love me... But I have to say it first...
Am I just a nuisance? Do I actually annoy you?

Tears fill my eyes as my feelings I compromise...
You are getting away with my ******

The ****** of my heart and soul, the flash in my eyes
I become the meekest child under your gaze

And I just no longer know what to do...
Because I fear I no longer love you...

I am just sad and cold and want to die. I am teasing the edge. I can write now, I can write. But not for long I’m already done. There where the ideas of the new era somewhere, locked away in my head waiting for the release of incomprehensible advisors. They kind lathed in blathered pink and with poly-chrome hats, dancing on the rivers boat-moon-spell moments, the kind that happened to every kid at every intangible, hallucinated camp. The one they make up in their head before bed on the streets in the muddy motel alleyway dirt. I couldn't hold back the want to die. As I sat there perched bellow the roofed rim of the building I could feel the splashes of water grace around my ankles, the water had been soaking for hours. I was the always rain. It never stopped, not once in the history of our race. We had to find houses along the rocks, soil was apart of the sea, or at least that’s the way I understood it. There was not time for anything besides keeping dry. It was really a mater of wet or less wet, there was nothing anyone could do about it. The earth moved without relent. I see a ***** in the ****** mary. I know because everyone else I know does too, we just want to be polite about it, not make to much racket. I debate even writing again. To who? an upcoming age of enlightenment? To say what is already been said by the mind of every mind in every place, that we are the collective unraveling of the fabric of our own making. I am the turtle. It finally hit me, I am the meekest of all of them, the slowest and most looked down at. I am the capacity of a nuclear wave. I am the only one who knows of my own power. A crazed soul I am. Sold into my own slavery again! I just wean to hear you breathe, to prove there are the balance and manifestation of the infinite love I hid away in my mind. The one love I created with one thought. I am the product of the indoctrination, they left a bomb in my mind. I am altered among the alter and always dying. No one should have to see their soon to be dead mother crawling around on the ground like a bug waiting to pounce on your leg. Too close to home and too soon for my own mind. Some girl who's name started with an M, it's fuzzy and I haven't the clue to remembering. Its all over finally, they are done, I am impenetrable by their foggy morning evergreen attacks. Try to leach and drain off of my unconscious collective. My hive honey. my meat. They are nice in the dream of reality, but in every way they are spiders waiting for the kids to come, they will feed on me first. They will eat. Always i remember our own journeys and I forget to dance most of the time, loose eye lids sweating now, A video arcade. Finished.

For the weekest,
Meekest, lonely
And afriad;
Understand attention
Must be paid.
Offer a hand,
Help carry their weight,
Be sincere
On your first date;
Request true friendship on FB,
Get the Baileys, share your tea;
Turn on a light for the old,
Give a coat to the cold.
Don't just shake,
Embrace and hold.
Create you own way
To convey,
Serious attention
Must be paid.

Why is darkness at its meekest within a light source?
How incredible it is, that among its enemy, it’s able to wrap victims
In its arms.

Swallow them;
Disguise them;
Embrace them.

Its long tendrils crawling upon your skin
Its poison traveling into your heart
Destroying you;
Engulfing you;
Letting light into your eyes.

Darkness isn’t an enemy, it’s your invisible friend.
It lets you see the truth.
While light? It conceals it
Everything is a lie.

Light wants to be perfect, but it can’t.
It is the result of all social judgements
All things.

Darkness reveals everything that you might not have noticed.
But beware
If you fall too deeply into the abyss
You might get stuck and never climb back up.

Because we humans would rather accept the beautiful lies
Rather than the cold truth.
Because we are us, and we are cowards.

nary the further root(nor nearer neither)shoots
reaching similar jeering your carnal fold whoops
a crown of pink, whose gentler thorns enshrined
the meekest cruel sweetness of with mouth combined
posits a slender abrupt howl from the heaving
noose of abdomens 2 backed seething
(a beast twained)
or so sayeth William

how would i know claw or feather(myself or myself). there's me only and also me. like claw sharply or feather downy.
me and me also. that's what i am like. both neither or either.

i again return myself to hands of thoughts and returning again i arrive and look on them.
and they are wonder.
meekest starting; hulking ending. they begin and they rush. they end and they abey.

not so nearly as a frond, more like a leaf, just new and trembling on his mothers arm.
i dance and i am collected.
i repose and i am disheveled. i am cluttered with words mostly. they collude like

grass fresh in springs nicest wetness on early mornings(they gleam and enamel
me). my stuff and my
artifice. they are the magic of person, of which i count myself amongst, and am

counted by. i squish their numbers and margins between my toes when i walk
on balmy summer nights
through soakness caking through my shirt. the dew of god's breath enamors.

and pleases the senses. such aromas(which waltz from buds opened in the silverset
moonlight)confuse
and collide me. i like how they smell. they are richest and fullest health. on the breeze

they mingle and bumble perfectly. they arrive and taunt me. i stand by lakes(wreathed in them)
and i would eat them
as soon as smell them. stem and berry. loch and grove. these things are innumerable(and terribly

few). how do i reckon them against me? but just bones and flesh i wonder on their bodies.
i note them and i bring
them into me and place them in my soul. they, like sleep, are posies and fancies gorgeous.

i ramble and i elicit. i trundle and i fathom. i look on people and i see them busy and
infinite. they progress
and urge. they collect and they divide. like oceans. each's a droplet and a whole.

they make me and i make them. i know me by them. and how shall i any other way?
and them by me
they know themselves. we are bound and seamless. i lilt and i think on them.

sometimes foolish i think. other times i'm so in wonder at each infinite self i nearly tumble
out myself.
and where does the truth lie? both of course. nothing was ever one thing. except for exactly

what it is. except for when it's not. then it is another thing. which is exactly what it is again.
i think and sing.
but i'm not knowing. i've never been. i just flit and prattle(i am the wind; i touching nothing

leave no trace).

Thou art the gorgeous princess that graces the presence of multitudes...
Men women, every human creation will give anything to worship the ground you step on...
They will exchange their loyalty for you to warm their beds...
Your beauty is beyond the first creation.
...but beloved, I can not love you.
Not this way.
For I don't have A Heart to.
She, the meekest of all that ever existed has clenched it in her hands.
And she, cannot let it go.
©The Unspoken

Do not give into darkness.
Hold fast and tight to every ray of light.
Hold tight to stars and push out blackness.
You are too young to give away the fight.

Good is hard but still we keep it burning,
Illuminating all our rights and wrongs.
With good to light our way we're always learning.
Live with in the light for night is long.

If darkness settles in and lights extinguish,
If there's not the meekest, faintest glow,
Perhaps the good with in the world seems finished
But still into the darkness do not go.

You are the good to over come the darkness
Fight the looming blackness with your light
If evil is the absence of all good
Then it only takes one star to make things right

It’s obvious that I look at you
and see perfection; even where
there is none, even where
your ugly is. I know that’s why
I hear from you whenever you
feel rejected. Ultimately, you’re
going to find the door again
because you’re looking for
someone a little harder to tame,
and I’m going to end up the
rejected one who can’t seem
to understand why an outpour
of care isn’t enough for you to
stay with me. You call and your
apology is the meekest I’ve
seen, but I run to you faster
than I’ve run before because
it’s you. It’s you. It’s you. I want
to call you selfish but I forgive
you for it before the word makes
it past my mouth. I’m always so
happy to see you that I forget
to ask you to please let me go.

by spaded hand
the cloven earth
receives the root
a seed and weeps
a new flower with
fragile completely
petals that in even
meekest shooking
bend
           and

                     fractures

I Was buried last night
As word after word you shoveled over me
Telling me with my sadness you could not deal
I put up no fight
I just slipped into the bathroom
Your words following "you going in there to cry"
As the tears slid silently down my face of steel
I sat till no more tears came
You attacked me at my weakest
I turned off my feelings, I could no longer feel
My face a blank slate
I was at my meekest
I plastered on a smile
But I guess it didn't carry enough weight
I guess I didn't have the expression of a child
So what am I to do
I don't know anymore how to be fake
So I just continue to smile
My steel face will be all you ever see till I'm through
Until someday soon you lay me in the dirt

That's the day I'll no longer hurt

the city
filled in
the small
pond
in the middle
of my tiny
poem.

all the ducks
came to
my door
and complained
i am
simple
i agree
in the meekest
of language.

that they
have been
unhomed.

it is
my duty
they tell
me as a poet
to open
the  door
of my
small poem
and let
them swim
in my bathtub.

i agree
it is tough
to be unhomed
there should
be plenty of room
in my weensy poem
for such
a small flock
of fluffy ducks.

the  periods
are silent
because
they must know
something.


the ducks
fill up my
bathtub
as they quack
double sestina
to the pond
that has been
filled  by those
unfeeling humans!

it is
hard to work
in such cacophony
such repetitive
quacking repetition
words
like floating wood
float to the surface
of my eye-ear
in spades.

often i type
my meager haikus
on my typewriter
with missing
chrome keys:

typewriter  chrome keys flutter cure
clear water within  pond flows pure
ducks like ink letters rise into line.


no
says my
inward-sparrow:
“that is an englyn milwr
not   a haiku”


bless
you sparrow
i tried again:

typewriter keys clatter
rises like letters in moonlight
ducks swim on round poem.

Then the tiny bell
vibes
as my typewriter
comes to the margins
and quacking subsides.  

The ducks come
to my study
and complain
that my typing
is quite distracting
to their
swimming.

The periods
can only  chuckle
like crickets.

Long and arduous had been the climb.
Fifty years or so in the making.
A pinnacle claimed but unseen for what it was.
Was it folly or push that became my past, present and future.

Falling was but a blink in the making.
No anchor to hold me and foundations removed, abandoned, lost.
Successions of ricochets from jagged rock to jagged rock.
Carved to the core by granite hard betrayal and failures.

By chance did my fingers gain purchase to slow the fall.
More of a roll downhill than the plummet that near killed me.
But still trending down into the chasm of who I have become.
The place I am, the present, the bloodied remnant of who I was.

Limbs askew and misshapen-ed, bones shattered and core exposed.
Total vulnerability to even the meekest of creatures with ill intent.
Cowered, afraid and alone in and darkness still falling.
Momentary reprieve as fingers strike stone but too torn to grasp.

Mind operating in fragmented, distorted jigsaws of thought.
No box top picture remaining to focus the picture I am meant to be.
Too many pieces in different shapes to be who I once was.
Uncertain of enough pieces to make myself a semblance of whole.

Still endless the fall and the darkness.
Creature or granite strike constantly feared.
Cowered, alone, afraid and defeated.
The darkness and fall are who I have been made.

The sunlight cannot overcome the cloud,
The water vapor blocks the rays from sight. 
A tiny mouse can scare away a crowd,
The powerful concede without a fight. 

A mighty ship sunk by a little leak,
A paper cut that makes a grown man cry,
Vast canyons are eroded by a creek,
Goliath felled by stone between the eye. 

A single word can move a heart to feel,
Or shatter into pieces bonds of trust. 
One look belies whatever eyes conceal,
One touch can turn a pious man to lust. 

The meekest things can tame ferocity,
The stillness of your soul has vanquished me.

Did you know me

Did you know me when I knew you , back then

back when

none of this was real but we felt it

could be.

If you knew my type,
my sort o'critter
from under a
shadow of
a rock.

Von Neumann said you need not accept
responsibility for the reality

others imagine you in, or
something like that.

But, if

there was a then when I knew you,
then I know how to
take action
I
wave my hand
magi
swish, besom of de struction
con structuring
com panions, company of ---

no, there is no such

being appearing needed,
what's missin' for this
impossible
mission

Feynman, make a tool.
Ramanujan, right the algo rhyme
Count as reason all the sets of infinite things
being
as we see. As they be, with no seeing being done.

Re, same vocalization as Re, the big Kahuna
in Egypt, sun god, crazy family,
senility and drooling
rulers. That Re

sounds just jest jist like rey ray re, eh? and
re is the oldest word we

link to the idea of reason and counting.

Come, let us reason…
Re, eh,
that counts. Counting positions now
away from then in any direction.
Al
beta test re quire

That's for your protection.
Bubbles have edges for that very first reason,

keep the inside in and the outside out.

Feelings every language can name,
are those not spiritual things
being influential as they may?

Should we, you and me, let feelings reign
the realm?
****** your qualms awry.

My realm,

I took responsibility. Von Nuemann, meet

my machination. It grows and grows and grows,
breaks are mended,
edges tended,
the meekest of us make peace for a living.

But, if

there was a then when I knew you,
you know how this came to pass.

War as an idea, counted me out, worthless.

I was drunk and he who drunk
was you. ..

back when

none of this was real but we
imagined now would
prove the point, one way or another

Life makes us,
we, who knew then,

did you know me when I knew you , back then?
I
remember knowing, this

is the big show, the one that counts.

I am heartless.
I am bossy.
I care less.
I am mean.
I treat you like trash.
So you said.
I want to feel culpable.
And say, I am sorry.
But, you pressed the red button;
when you labelled me;
a mistake in your life.
I pinched myself real hard.
To let go the shock.
Yet, you feel no remorse.
You're unrepentant.
And that's the extreme.
I recalled your hurt to you.
You asked me to change the  topic.
I understand it's no longer us,
I use to know.
We seem to ourselves strangers.
I no longer see you.
I see an alien.
Trespassing into my galaxy.
I must save my world.
Before I lose my mind.
Let me lose you.
One for one.
Is far better to losing everything.
I will wipe you off my memory.
You will cease to exist in my mind.
I'll pluck a better flower.
Who will see the good in me.
Who will tell me my acts the minute;
I as a human hurt her.
How can you be so bitter?
Nursing all my hurts from day one.
The times you messed things up,
You dragged your sinister shell;
to seek forgiveness from me.
I never turned you down.
I know I am a ******.
I know I am blunt.
But I am the meekest man;
ever alive on this planet.
Your silence and mischief stinks;
like oko filling ground.
Where passers by find it hard to breathe.
Haven't I lived in that strange strench?
For too long I have tried to breathe.
For this once I have to leave.
I know you've long left me.
You had all your actions in a script.
Before a little oil droplet;
hit the wall of your lamp.
For you to shine the darkest light.
What you seek, you did not find.
What I will be is without you.
I am grateful for your good acts.
The times you acted an angel.
These days you are no better;
than a fallen angel.
Wild and rusty.
You've lost your beautiful wings.
I pray you find what you seek.
I'm sure you'll find your kind.
Because my kind is rare.
Now I am looking back.
Garnering all the fragments;
of our memories to burn them.
Burning these memories;
will pave way for a fresh start.
Than waking the dead long gone.
'Tis like making a fire on the ocean.
'Tis like playing romance with a viper.
Getting stung shouldn't be a surprise.
And I'm no fan of surprises.
I'll burn these memories;
so I can live again.

Burning memories.
The antidote to living again.

the yellow sea will take you away and the yellow sea will bring you back.  in between the coming and the going, your father will speak to your mother about the tales her brother tells.  the one about your father being born to carry a ladder and later in the same your mother born as well and with her an extra shadow.  the two about her brother himself insisting to multitudes how on its mother’s command a tadpole swam into his ear.  the unfinished few about who I am.  the thrice changed account of the man with three hearts just like Jesus.  the one he hasn’t told you about the visitor that eats tongue but is never hungry which is also the one about how we know what it eats.  the story of two men hating the same woman over and over until they can close on nothing but frog-like delicacies.  your favorite where he becomes your father and becomes too sad to release your least.  the hated woman whose stomach is a black tire, the bits of which are found here in the meekest bull and there in a massive fish.

Taking the story forward,

there are these people, all along the edges
of tyrannies in states of peace,
outlaws and anarchaltypes,
heroes for the meek,
the meekest of them all.
The man who thought, he shot
Liberty Balance,
edgewise, or we are ******* in wrong,
but, he fired off a round
of conjecture
f'sure,
no sweat, see the space we cease being,
doing we the *******,
and we morph, cool way to say, we change

we become the point of life. We the living.
All our ancestors inherited the wind.
We hold it in our fists. Be gentle.

Heard,
Seen,
Felt,
Known.

Mostly I write,
So who I am is finally shown.

The meekest form,
I know to expose,
My inner workings,
How my heart goes...

I think it's no different,
Than the rest of the world.
I just wish everyone had a platform,
To be similarly heard.

Not an eternal winter, nor an immortal war,
Could sully the beauty of thy aura, shine,
That thou understand this Truth I in earnest implore;
Such an endearing passion as is thine.
Then being blessed with the kindest voice;
Yours, the meekest that my jaded ears had heard,
Maketh the depressed and downcast spirit rejoice,
For each and every blessed word.
Thou deserve my praise, alms and admiration,
The blessings you beget I could not count,
That lift my spirit out of trepidation,
And give me the strength to my trials, surmount.
    I hath not seen an angel truer,
    Engaged in love and light's endeavour.

Simple paper sacks line the sidewalk,
moving in the wind,
just trash waiting to blow away.

Christmas Eve, sacks glow from within,
candles flicker, with the meekest of light
yet fill our spirits with love and hope.

The display steals our breath,
as we walk down the street,
a lit path for visitors to travel.

The loudest of the bunch
With sleeves wrapped down

With multiple layers on
Twinkle in his eye


The meekest of the few
With shoulders hunched and huddled

With nary a word to describe her
Too much of a wallflower


By chance, or by fate.
Just the two of them,

Bound by a moment in time forever.

The boy with his scars,
And the girl with her demons.

Think you know a wise man,
a holy man,
a visionary when you see him?
Think you have expectations as to his outward appearance?
His demeanor?
My friend, think again.

He could be any shape he could be any size,
He could have any color from normal to polka dots,

He could be a woman could be a child
Could be from the meekest to the most wild
His wisdom could cover all you wish to know
Or it could just cover which path to or not to go

My friend,
think again
She could be an old lady carrying a blood red apple
She could be all dolled up in glass slippers and such
She could be pale white with lust driven red lips
She could be you
He could be a sweet baby
Or an ugly
***.

Truth takes on many faces it can lead you on a merry dance
Trust only to word and deed,
be deceived not by appearance

Think you know a no-gooder when you see one?
Think you know the beggar on the street is nothing more?
Think again....
it could be your future,
your fate
He could have been in shoes
like yours not long ago







Think you know an angel when you see one?
Think they always wear a halo and fly with wings of gold?
Think again...
they're everywhere,
They could be the neighbor you dislike...


They could stop being human,
and you...
could stop thinking
and leave it up to them

Give the wise holy visionary back their shoes

think again...
meer appearance
may not be as clear
as what was first thought

Open your hear to what's around you
instead of placing things in your pigeon holes,
truth takes on many forms,
One only has to open their hearts
and except things.

So no matter what you see
find that open spirit
where a heart
touches beyond an imagination
within a glimmer.