If any vision should reveal
  Thy likeness, I might count it vain
  As but the canker of the brain;
Yea, tho' it spake and made appeal

To chances where our lots were cast
  Together in the days behind,
  I might but say, I hear a wind
Of memory murmuring the past.

Yea, tho' it spake and bared to view
  A fact within the coming year;
  And tho' the months, revolving near,
Should prove the phantom-warning true,

They might not seem thy prophecies,
  But spiritual presentiments,
  And such refraction of events
As often rises ere they rise.

I guess you'll be angry,
after reading what I wrote
So I suggest you cool down,
and my feelings here I quote:

"I always thought this was a show,
A silly game teens play
Hormones flowing with the flow,
A game destined to decay.

Never heard romantic songs
because I could not relate to them.
Thought all this was nonsense,
'cause I am too young to understand.

I know you despise all this,
I once despised it too.
But when I met you I realized,
there is a different view.

Some things are better
said than been withheld.
Because they make your eyes wetter
and come back when you are eld.

Although I've told you this before
and I believe I'm self aware,
I thought I would once again
like to clear the air.

That day, I wanted to forget you,
'cause I know how it ends.
Leaving two beings dismal,
never risking themselves again.

You told me it is momentary,
that it will go away.
But it’s just the contrary,
And I think about you everyday.

Once again, I may sound like a flake,
but I want you to know.
Your parents must be very proud,
your heart is as pure as snow.

I know you don't feel the same way
though I'm your best friend,
I just wanted you to be aware
That this fool is in love with you, now comprehend.

Alas! I'm running out of words again,
and I have nothing else left to write.
And at the same time,
have a heap of feelings to recite.

This is the best I can do,
The poem is my gift to you.
But if you tell me your honest presentiments
I'd still be friends
and never talk about this again."

I awoke with a need,
with presentiments from bad dreams;
detached from feeling, I hear it sing:
a grandfather’s clock, untimely,
boxes and a piano with no tuning.

a walk through high hills and chalk walls,
towards a fervid green memory -
no ash to see and no burnt bodies.

now, with this perturbed heartbeat,

the     ghosts and    
goners      will  
meet

.
.
Embowered within a leafy glade
where virtues vapours float in air
inhaled in spectres fervency
released by Prospero’s wand.

Flexile dreams unleavened yet
will rise to inspiration’s zest
presentiments of what will be
maintain a station deep within.

As ships which rail upon the sea
and thoughts which float on dimpled plains
when furnished by a pen these dreams
will sit in frames of antique gold.

Do I read them all back?
Or keep writing you more?
Either way
Doesn’t take me back
To us
Restored
In completion
Replete with
The good and the bad
Memories
And the future
We could’ve still had
But perhaps it allows
Deeper now
Contemplation
Again at the cusp
Of our dusk
Divination
Into
What the dwindling
Of desolate dawn
Still returns to eternity‘s
Gone along song

Sick of feeling
Myself wither
Spewed it from
My shriveled liver
Winter takes a heavy toll
And lachrymose
Is my old soul
For I was once
So young with her
But can’t go back
To how we were
In love
It seems
Can disappear
Or was it even
Ever there?
Apparent in
Some kind of sense
To me
Or else
Why these laments?
She mentioned
I might be depressed
Expressing now
The evidence
Presentiments
Of no known cure
But burials
Of premature
Relinquished will
To carry on
Endure no longer
Dead and gone