Incipit prohemium tercii libri.

O blisful light of whiche the bemes clere  
Adorneth al the thridde hevene faire!
O sonnes lief, O Ioves doughter dere,
Plesaunce of love, O goodly debonaire,
In gentil hertes ay redy to repaire!  
O verray cause of hele and of gladnesse,
Y-heried be thy might and thy goodnesse!

In hevene and helle, in erthe and salte see
Is felt thy might, if that I wel descerne;
As man, brid, best, fish, herbe and grene tree  
Thee fele in tymes with vapour eterne.
God loveth, and to love wol nought werne;
And in this world no lyves creature,
With-outen love, is worth, or may endure.

Ye Ioves first to thilke effectes glade,  
Thorugh which that thinges liven alle and be,
Comeveden, and amorous him made
On mortal thing, and as yow list, ay ye
Yeve him in love ese or adversitee;
And in a thousand formes doun him sente  
For love in erthe, and whom yow liste, he hente.

Ye fierse Mars apeysen of his ire,
And, as yow list, ye maken hertes digne;
Algates, hem that ye wol sette a-fyre,
They dreden shame, and vices they resigne;  
Ye do hem corteys be, fresshe and benigne,
And hye or lowe, after a wight entendeth;
The Ioyes that he hath, your might him sendeth.

Ye holden regne and hous in unitee;
Ye soothfast cause of frendship been also;  
Ye knowe al thilke covered qualitee
Of thinges which that folk on wondren so,
Whan they can not construe how it may io,
She loveth him, or why he loveth here;
As why this fish, and nought that, comth to were.  

Ye folk a lawe han set in universe,
And this knowe I by hem that loveres be,
That who-so stryveth with yow hath the werse:
Now, lady bright, for thy benignitee,
At reverence of hem that serven thee,  
Whos clerk I am, so techeth me devyse
Som Ioye of that is felt in thy servyse.

Ye in my naked herte sentement
Inhelde, and do me shewe of thy swetnesse. --
Caliope, thy vois be now present,  
For now is nede; sestow not my destresse,
How I mot telle anon-right the gladnesse
Of Troilus, to Venus heryinge?
To which gladnes, who nede hath, god him bringe!

Explicit prohemium Tercii Libri.

Incipit Liber Tercius.

Lay al this mene whyle Troilus,  
Recordinge his lessoun in this manere,
'Ma fey!' thought he, 'Thus wole I seye and thus;
Thus wole I pleyne unto my lady dere;
That word is good, and this shal be my chere;
This nil I not foryeten in no wyse.'  
God leve him werken as he can devyse!

And, lord, so that his herte gan to quappe,
Heringe hir come, and shorte for to syke!
And Pandarus, that ledde hir by the lappe,
Com ner, and gan in at the curtin pyke,  
And seyde, 'God do bote on alle syke!
See, who is here yow comen to visyte;
Lo, here is she that is your deeth to wyte.'

Ther-with it semed as he wepte almost;
'A ha,' quod Troilus so rewfully,  
'Wher me be wo, O mighty god, thow wost!
Who is al there? I se nought trewely.'
'Sire,' quod Criseyde, 'it is Pandare and I.'
'Ye, swete herte? Allas, I may nought ryse
To knele, and do yow honour in som wyse.'  

And dressede him upward, and she right tho
Gan bothe here hondes softe upon him leye,
'O, for the love of god, do ye not so
To me,' quod she, 'Ey! What is this to seye?
Sire, come am I to yow for causes tweye;  
First, yow to thonke, and of your lordshipe eke
Continuance I wolde yow biseke.'

This Troilus, that herde his lady preye
Of lordship him, wex neither quik ne deed,
Ne mighte a word for shame to it seye,  
Al-though men sholde smyten of his heed.
But lord, so he wex sodeinliche reed,
And sire, his lesson, that he wende conne,
To preyen hir, is thurgh his wit y-ronne.

Cryseyde al this aspyede wel y-nough,  
For she was wys, and lovede him never-the-lasse,
Al nere he malapert, or made it tough,
Or was to bold, to singe a fool a masse.
But whan his shame gan somwhat to passe,
His resons, as I may my rymes holde,  
I yow wole telle, as techen bokes olde.

In chaunged vois, right for his verray drede,
Which vois eek quook, and ther-to his manere
Goodly abayst, and now his hewes rede,
Now pale, un-to Criseyde, his lady dere,  
With look doun cast and humble yolden chere,
Lo, the alderfirste word that him asterte
Was, twyes, 'Mercy, mercy, swete herte!'

And stinte a whyl, and whan he mighte out-bringe,
The nexte word was, 'God wot, for I have,  
As feyfully as I have had konninge,
Ben youres, also god so my sowle save;
And shal til that I, woful wight, be grave.
And though I dar ne can un-to yow pleyne,
Y-wis, I suffre nought the lasse peyne.  

'Thus muche as now, O wommanliche wyf,
I may out-bringe, and if this yow displese,
That shal I wreke upon myn owne lyf
Right sone, I trowe, and doon your herte an ese,
If with my deeth your herte I may apese.  
But sin that ye han herd me som-what seye,
Now recche I never how sone that I deye.'

Ther-with his manly sorwe to biholde,
It mighte han maad an herte of stoon to rewe;
And Pandare weep as he to watre wolde,  
And poked ever his nece newe and newe,
And seyde, 'Wo bigon ben hertes trewe!
For love of god, make of this thing an ende,
Or slee us bothe at ones, er that ye wende.'

'I? What?' quod she, 'By god and by my trouthe,  
I noot nought what ye wilne that I seye.'
'I? What?' quod he, 'That ye han on him routhe,
For goddes love, and doth him nought to deye.'
'Now thanne thus,' quod she, 'I wolde him preye
To telle me the fyn of his entente;  
Yet wist I never wel what that he mente.'

'What that I mene, O swete herte dere?'
Quod Troilus, 'O goodly, fresshe free!
That, with the stremes of your eyen clere,
Ye wolde som-tyme freendly on me see,  
And thanne agreen that I may ben he,
With-oute braunche of vyce on any wyse,
In trouthe alwey to doon yow my servyse,

'As to my lady right and chief resort,
With al my wit and al my diligence,  
And I to han, right as yow list, comfort,
Under your yerde, egal to myn offence,
As deeth, if that I breke your defence;
And that ye deigne me so muche honoure,
Me to comaunden ought in any houre.  

'And I to ben your verray humble trewe,
Secret, and in my paynes pacient,
And ever-mo desire freshly newe,
To serven, and been y-lyke ay diligent,
And, with good herte, al holly your talent  
Receyven wel, how sore that me smerte,
Lo, this mene I, myn owene swete herte.'

Quod Pandarus, 'Lo, here an hard request,
And resonable, a lady for to werne!
Now, nece myn, by natal Ioves fest,  
Were I a god, ye sholde sterve as yerne,
That heren wel, this man wol no-thing yerne
But your honour, and seen him almost sterve,
And been so looth to suffren him yow serve.'

With that she gan hir eyen on him caste  
Ful esily, and ful debonairly,
Avysing hir, and hyed not to faste
With never a word, but seyde him softely,
'Myn honour sauf, I wol wel trewely,
And in swich forme as he can now devyse,  
Receyven him fully to my servyse,

'Biseching him, for goddes love, that he
Wolde, in honour of trouthe and gentilesse,
As I wel mene, eek mene wel to me,
And myn honour, with wit and besinesse  
Ay kepe; and if I may don him gladnesse,
From hennes-forth, y-wis, I nil not feyne:
Now beeth al hool; no lenger ye ne pleyne.

'But nathelees, this warne I yow,' quod she,
'A kinges sone al-though ye be, y-wis,  
Ye shal na-more have soverainetee
Of me in love, than right in that cas is;
Ne I nil forbere, if that ye doon a-mis,
To wrathen yow; and whyl that ye me serve,
Cherycen yow right after ye deserve.  

'And shortly, dere herte and al my knight,
Beth glad, and draweth yow to lustinesse,
And I shal trewely, with al my might,
Your bittre tornen al in-to swetenesse.
If I be she that may yow do gladnesse,  
For every wo ye shal recovere a blisse';
And him in armes took, and gan him kisse.

Fil Pandarus on knees, and up his eyen
To hevene threw, and held his hondes hye,
'Immortal god!' quod he, 'That mayst nought dyen,  
Cupide I mene, of this mayst glorifye;
And Venus, thou mayst maken melodye;
With-outen hond, me semeth that in the towne,
For this merveyle, I here ech belle sowne.

'But **! No more as now of this matere,  
For-why this folk wol comen up anoon,
That han the lettre red; lo, I hem here.
But I coniure thee, Criseyde, and oon,
And two, thou Troilus, whan thow mayst goon,
That at myn hous ye been at my warninge,  
For I ful wel shal shape youre cominge;

'And eseth ther your hertes right y-nough;
And lat see which of yow shal bere the belle
To speke of love a-right!' ther-with he lough,
'For ther have ye a layser for to telle.'  
Quod Troilus, 'How longe shal I dwelle
Er this be doon?' Quod he, 'Whan thou mayst ryse,
This thing shal be right as I yow devyse.'

With that Eleyne and also Deiphebus
Tho comen upward, right at the steyres ende;  
And Lord, so than gan grone Troilus,
His brother and his suster for to blende.
Quod Pandarus, 'It tyme is that we wende;
Tak, nece myn, your leve at alle three,
And lat hem speke, and cometh forth with me.'  

She took hir leve at hem ful thriftily,
As she wel coude, and they hir reverence
Un-to the fulle diden hardely,
And speken wonder wel, in hir absence,
Of hir, in preysing of hir excellence,  
Hir governaunce, hir wit; and hir manere
Commendeden, it Ioye was to here.

Now lat hir wende un-to hir owne place,
And torne we to Troilus a-yein,
That gan ful lightly of the lettre passe  
That Deiphebus hadde in the gardin seyn.
And of Eleyne and him he wolde fayn
Delivered been, and seyde that him leste
To slepe, and after tales have reste.

Eleyne him kiste, and took hir leve blyve,  
Deiphebus eek, and hoom wente every wight;
And Pandarus, as faste as he may dryve,
To Troilus tho com, as lyne right;
And on a paillet, al that glade night,
By Troilus he lay, with mery chere,  
To tale; and wel was hem they were y-fere.

Whan every wight was voided but they two,
And alle the dores were faste y-shette,
To telle in short, with-oute wordes mo,
This Pandarus, with-outen any lette,  
Up roos, and on his beddes syde him sette,
And gan to speken in a sobre wyse
To Troilus, as I shal yow devyse:

'Myn alderlevest lord, and brother dere,
God woot, and thou, that it sat me so sore,  
When I thee saw so languisshing to-yere,
For love, of which thy wo wex alwey more;
That I, with al my might and al my lore,
Have ever sithen doon my bisinesse
To bringe thee to Ioye out of distresse,  

'And have it brought to swich plyt as thou wost,
So that, thorugh me, thow stondest now in weye
To fare wel, I seye it for no bost,
And wostow which? For shame it is to seye,
For thee have I bigonne a gamen pleye  
Which that I never doon shal eft for other,
Al-though he were a thousand fold my brother.

'That is to seye, for thee am I bicomen,
Bitwixen game and ernest, swich a mene
As maken wommen un-to men to comen;  
Al sey I nought, thou wost wel what I mene.
For thee have I my nece, of vyces clene,
So fully maad thy gentilesse triste,
That al shal been right as thy-selve liste.

'But god, that al wot, take I to witnesse,  
That never I this for coveityse wroughte,
But only for to abregge that distresse,
For which wel nygh thou deydest, as me thoughte.
But, gode brother, do now as thee oughte,
For goddes love, and kep hir out of blame,  
Sin thou art wys, and save alwey hir name.

'For wel thou wost, the name as yet of here
Among the peple, as who seyth, halwed is;
For that man is unbore, I dar wel swere,
That ever wiste that she dide amis.  
But wo is me, that I, that cause al this,
May thenken that she is my nece dere,
And I hir eem, and trattor eek y-fere!

'And were it wist that I, through myn engyn,
Hadde in my nece y-put this fantasye,  
To do thy lust, and hoolly to be thyn,
Why, al the world up-on it wolde crye,
And seye, that I the worste trecherye
Dide in this cas, that ever was bigonne,
And she for-lost, and thou right nought y-wonne.  

'Wher-fore, er I wol ferther goon a pas,
Yet eft I thee biseche and fully seye,
That privetee go with us in this cas;
That is to seye, that thou us never wreye;
And be nought wrooth, though I thee ofte preye  
To holden secree swich an heigh matere;
For skilful is, thow wost wel, my preyere.

'And thenk what wo ther hath bitid er this,
For makinge of avantes, as men rede;
And what mischaunce in this world yet ther is,  
Fro day to day, right for that wikked dede;
For which these wyse clerkes that ben dede
Han ever yet proverbed to us yonge,
That "Firste vertu is to kepe tonge."

'And, nere it that I wilne as now tabregge  
Diffusioun of speche, I coude almost
A thousand olde stories thee alegge
Of wommen lost, thorugh fals and foles bost;
Proverbes canst thy-self y-nowe, and wost,
Ayeins that vyce, for to been a labbe,  
Al seyde men sooth as often as they gabbe.

'O tonge, allas! So often here-biforn
Hastow made many a lady bright of hewe
Seyd, "Welawey! The day that I was born!"
And many a maydes sorwes for to newe;  
And, for the more part, al is untrewe
That men of yelpe, and it were brought to preve;
Of kinde non avauntour is to leve.

'Avauntour and a lyere, al is on;
As thus: I pose, a womman graunte me  
Hir love, and seyth that other wol she non,
And I am sworn to holden it secree,
And after I go telle it two or three;
Y-wis, I am avauntour at the leste,
And lyere, for I breke my biheste.  

'Now loke thanne, if they be nought to blame,
Swich maner folk; what shal I clepe hem, what,
That hem avaunte of wommen, and by name,
That never yet bihighte hem this ne that,
Ne knewe hem more than myn olde hat?  
No wonder is, so god me sende hele,
Though wommen drede with us men to dele.

'I sey not this for no mistrust of yow,
Ne for no wys man, but for foles nyce,
And for the harm that in the world is now,  
As wel for foly ofte as for malyce;
For wel wot I, in wyse folk, that vyce
No womman drat, if she be wel avysed;
For wyse ben by foles harm chastysed.

'But now to purpos; leve brother dere,  
Have al this thing that I have seyd in minde,
And keep thee clos, and be now of good chere,
For at thy day thou shalt me trewe finde.
I shal thy proces sette in swich a kinde,
And god to-forn, that it shall thee suffyse,  
For it shal been right as thou wolt devyse.

'For wel I woot, thou menest wel, parde;
Therfore I dar this fully undertake.
Thou wost eek what thy lady graunted thee,
And day is set, the chartres up to make.  
Have now good night, I may no lenger wake;
And bid for me, sin thou art now in blisse,
That god me sende deeth or sone lisse.'

Who mighte telle half the Ioye or feste
Which that the sowle of Troilus tho felte,  
Heringe theffect of Pandarus biheste?
His olde wo, that made his herte swelte,
Gan tho for Ioye wasten and to-melte,
And al the richesse of his sykes sore
At ones fledde, he felte of hem no more.  

But right so as these holtes and these hayes,
That han in winter dede been and dreye,
Revesten hem in grene, whan that May is,
Whan every ***** lyketh best to pleye;
Right in that selve wyse, sooth to seye,  
Wax sodeynliche his herte ful of Ioye,
That gladder was ther never man in Troye.

And gan his look on Pandarus up caste
Ful sobrely, and frendly for to see,
And seyde, 'Freend, in Aprille the laste,  
As wel thou wost, if it remembre thee,
How neigh the deeth for wo thou founde me;
And how thou didest al thy bisinesse
To knowe of me the cause of my distresse.

'Thou wost how longe I it for-bar to seye  
To thee, that art the man that I best triste;
And peril was it noon to thee by-wreye,
That wiste I wel; but tel me, if thee liste,
Sith I so looth was that thy-self it wiste,
How dorst I mo tellen of this matere,  
That quake now, and no wight may us here?

'But natheles, by that god I thee swere,
That, as him list, may al this world governe,
And, if I lye, Achilles with his spere
Myn herte cleve, al were my lyf eterne,  
As I am mortal, if I late or yerne
Wolde it b

I walked along the sandy beach with a crisp breeze gliding through my hair,
I gazed out into the crystal clear water and thought about life.

I thought about how my life was like that ocean...vast and open.
I thought about all the people that have swam in that ocean and in
turn, swam through my life.

The people who just stuck their tiny toes into my great unknown, but
found the water too warm or too chilled. The people that dove in
without understanding the full complexity of navigating the unmapped
depths of my humanity and in turn, quickly fled for shore.

Finally, the people that waded gently into that great wide open found
that, when done at a resonable pace, the water was just fine.

These were the swimmers that have been coming back to the beach for a
long time now, and these were the ones I liked having around.

.that rare chance to be a spectator, of intra-cultural h'american difference(s), notacibly between REP-ZION and ONI-SION; wow (clearly)... i never thought it was, this bad, looking "forward" from the old continent, the schadenfreude mentality is, a bit, like, a paddy walks into a psychoanalysis clinic, slouches into the chair and repeats: where's the beer? h'america has become an unrecognizable culture-export powerhouse, the doubt plaguing these people is, rife... the fear? unfathomable, when it comes to expressing deviances of paranoia... once upon a time: great ******* music... now though? eh... not so much, esp. on scale of what's deemed acceptable... sorry... back on the "old continent", we're looking on, clueless... i've only just recently become exposed to this sort of content, these... hobbos of the internet... come to think of it, given these guys... failure is the only self-serving absolute to make deviation from up-staging the homeless, in reality, and these, leech test-dummies... current export of american culture? zero value... i'm still figuring out as to why america would require a cultural import "levy" on content creation: guess the teenage girls will not be enough as consumer digest "scrutiny", worth the base for an economic health analysis... the greatest country in the history of man, and they are unable, to perform with the sort of late 20th century hard-on... bothersome, i agree... but Europe is not exactly the place you'll be in want of finding inspiration... that's the last place you'd look.

there's nothing more **** than
witnessing                a spring blossom
in the ivory moonlight of
the night
       in my neighbour's garden,
which i'm feuding over,
which i "encouraged"
               to move house...
    sure... i wrote a poem once,
became so content with it
that i slipped out a wolf's imitation
howl,
  couldn't bark, i spoke...
and he reminded me of it,
asking me to: tell him,
when i was going to grill some
meat on the b.b.q.,
  i said: you're ******* mad,
he said: you're the madman
howling at night...
i replied: touché my friend...
last year?
  june / july?
    they have an autistic kid,
which is what you get when
you're circa 60,
and your maiden is circa 50...
apparently me minding my own
business,
  smoking a cigarette,
perched on a windowsill,
sitting on a folded leg,
             crushing my ankle,
smoking out into the night
was the problem...
but it wasn't the heat,
oh no no...
the same heat that left me
moaning and groaning
upon waking up,
the same sort of heat
that made me sleep through
dreams that literally threw me
out of my bed,
and pseudo-suffocating
on the cold wooden floor...
or running into the garden,
in nothing but underwear,
to find the cold grounnd
with a cranium riddled with grass,
and trying to sleep an extra
2 hours on the cooling earth,
in nothing but my underwear...
but yeah...
   70cl of whiskey...
no... i'm not feeling it...
        give me some more...
just make sure that the spring
blossom appears
before my eyes in the night...
i was being, resonable,
who is to dictate whether i can,
or can't, smoke a cigarette
perched on a windowsill of
my bedroom, smoking it out
of my window?
i told him,
and later her:
  your property: your rules...
my property: my freedoms...
****, i must have been speaking
mandarin,
  because that sort of "logic"
didn't translate...
well, 50cl of whiskey in,
pepsi and a lime,
and i hear the right song,
what happens?
   an electric surge,
a stimulus of pleasure,
orientates the number of
hairs on my head,
and move right down into
my groin and testicles,
and...
       starts to "thrill" me...
like i'm sort of self-automated
robot ****-bot,
goosebumps...
   chills...
     i never felt so good
about not ******* as i did,
listening to the right kind
of music,
   and looking at the right kind
of thing...
spring blossom, white,
in the night...
   i'm guessing it's a pear tree...
oh but i'm considered
mad...
   but i live next to a neighbour
that tells another neighbour
to clean up her dog ****
because the, fumes from the ****,
can somehow affect
their already autistic offspring...
i hear the little ******,
like any child:
cute gurgles of speech...
but the **** i hear,
when he's being told down,
**** me...
          i talk more ******* romance
to my cat than what i hear
from behind the wall...
and me, smoking out of my window,
is a problem, during the 2018 june /
july heatwave...
no no, the heat wasn't the problem...
talk about leaving a dog in
a parked car, next to some supermarket,
with the windows closed...
   i can only be just so much
reasonable, then i lose the plot,
and the plot becomes:
sane people pretend...
                                "sane"... people...
pretend...
              i was falling out of my bed
gasping for cold,
running into the garden
  to find shade and a grassy patch
of land,
   but it was me smoking
cigarettes outside of my bedroom
that was the problem...
flimsy... ******* flimsy...
        i had to bring this up,
it's the sort of petty information
that translates itself into a kept
momentum...
   i'll never read a book by
stephen king,
  not out of spite...
unless that could possibly be
the same sort of spite as to why
i will never read j. r. r. tolkien...
the movie did its bit,
by the standards of the hobbit...
you could have had 9 movies
in total...
   almost a star wars franchise...
it doesn't help that
i watched the fellowship of the ring
9 times at the cinema...
one time with a family friend
who was so obsessed with
enter the dragon...
that he watched it circa 30 times...
****,
i'm starting to feel
the loosening effect of the 60cl of whiskey...
guess that implies:
i'm ripe...
   for blah, blah blah...
at the end of the day,
i have limited imagination,
which eases my inability to lie...
truth, or mantra...
   and the state of h'america these days...
i remember times when
europe would be barraged by
the cultural export of h'america...
now?
     socio-political commentary
excerpts via... the usual channels...
how the **** didn't i make
a move to inact the more extreme
play-roles of *******?
oh, right...
the first and only
        canvas plot
of *******...
     Bronzino's
                    cupid, venus, folly & time...
i focused on the tender,
  oyster-like tongues...
and the entire spectrum
for the fetish of ******* a sister,
if i had one...
              *** outside of the mind
is so, so: ******* un-spectacular,
overtly competitive,
but if you have some sort of
a taboo cage,
   which you dare not break,
well: hello arousal.
    that basic translation
   of metaphor:
        phallus this,
enigma ***** that,
            Terra Mater of the phallus...
transgender...
          Neptune... the god of
the pearl ivory genitals
of a woman...
          depends...
if you know what a ****
feels like...
   most prostitutes have
the professional decency,
to oil up, even if they are not aroused...
an oyster in a desert scenario?
i might as well have been
circumcised within the interaction...
complaint?
        years later,
after she first courted me
with the words: you will not deny me...
**** me, first date is over,
and she still owns a DVD copy
of the machinist...

                good "thing" that i visited
a *******,
   now i know what male ****
feels like:
      dropping a sort of viagara
into the food,
   and then not oiling up
for the, ******,
cocoon ***, under the bed-sheets,
in the dark, feel, of, things...
at least with a *******
the lights were on,
we didn't do it under bedsheets...
i showed my chubby,
she showed her chubby,
and then i washed her
while we took a shower together
afterwards...

       two prime examples...
she was struck with a quasi-paralysis
when she came to an ******,
reality-breaker...
    my casual average little richard
could do that...
   and she couldn't fathom it...
  apparently i was only her second
in the trade...
      m'eh... **** happens...
forest gump ran across the h'american
continent...
          
            forgetting my genitals...
because i didn't trim my *****
hair for a sensible act
        of experiencing *******...
'good man' / 'nice'...
    the **** was up with
                                       jackie boy?
well yeah: i'd be a moralist
if i managed to put a strap-on
on mickey mouse's head,
whenever the lightbulb moment
came into drawing the *******
cartoon for: a bright idea.
      
hell, i love writing about ***...
given that it's not exactly graphic...
unless you come around
to what i have to say about,
Lucy, and south park,
      near Seven Kings...
in between Seven Kings
and Goodmayes...
                the "affair" of the
kit-kat...
         4.... 4/1,
                                  *******...      
but all of this is hardly spectacular,
it's nothing akin
to the "castration" of marquis de sade
strapped to the iron maiden
of the Bastile...
          his writings are worse
than his actual deeds...
   that origin story,
the one with the profanity
of the crucifix used as a ***** on
the ******* who reported him?
tame, his imagination was more wild
than his actual deeds...
come to think of it,
i don't even know how
the 16 year old me,
came about his most brilliant work,
the short ficto-essay ******,
but i did,
   i'd love to put a staff
into the Vistula, just in order
to change the current...
    but... clearly... this is,
   one of those instsances,
where a Moses metaphor,
                   will not do the required, trick;
   the sheer impossibility of
the act,
   transcending the physical
groundwork
of laws that give man,
a mind,
   and a stability of vision,
a future,
                  well...
that **** just went out of the "window".

today I exist as a vapor then I am no more
some may equate logic for fear that brings nothing near
my chest is heavy and my pulse is setting in
yesterday was such an easy game we used to play
awe but then let's face it it's quite easier today
for I am not myself these day for all i know I might by two
there's room enough in store to view yet I'm in a bind
I'm likewise in a haze for who I am from scene to scene
yet luck's provision is preverse it seems to work more in reverse
if things are better they'll be worse in quite a while
hey penny, one penny, tri penny, three
nature seldom ever fails to most surprisingly provide an undisclosing posing side
at one's dismay one needs to pray

Shelter me in a newer way to begin
won't you help me my friend
through mountains of madness amidst all its sadness
we can dig deeper then ever before
lest I implore another opened door
getting caught up in the middle playing a game of second fiddle
most of life seems to be a riddle
Shelter me in through the storms of life
amidst each added spice as if were on a roller coaster
don't stop me now but I may need a lawyer
as we get a little older we can grow to succumb to the world's cloister
like a hen with a rooster gets your pets spayed and nuetered.
we are only here for a short time so sound the alarm

inside we hide behind four walls that seal
caught up in a fix in every hope as you hold your crucifix
there's danger up ahead yet we lie in bed in the walking dead
a face full of lead falling apart at the seams in the evil schemes
shelter me in so I can breath always got something up my sleeve
shadows block the vortex of the sun lit resolution
we are out searching for the latest solution
in barbed wire fences always second glances
we often will scamble as Felix was played by Tony Randall
its hard to handle living in a society that's blind you see
but as a poet friend I'm making sweet lasting memories
languished over the onslaught of feelings inside
your the tool of the government and industry to
its all a will for power nothing more lest I simply implore
the fate for so much more yet for what?

shelter me in out in the playing field of delegation as polticians embrace a resonable solution
in the newspaper as shelter lies dormant in its beckoning call
to the know it all out in his ivory tower its in the hour of power
bask in the vast expanse between space and time
John Lennon said it best, "Happiness is a lone gun momma bang bang shoot shoot".
we got thick headed polticians that can't even reason
suicide is on the rise people are running away to hide
abortion on demand when will we ever live to understand
no one has a voice anymore no one understands
until today we got every good reason to bow our heads to pray
a mass hysteria in our land as we text our way through the day
no one breaks bread anymore no one bothers to pray
yet it ought not be this way on some sorted time delay
you still make fun of the gay instead of embracing them as they are our family
lines being drawn in the sand when will we ever live to understand

Shelter me in my friend with whom I can depend people are making choices
there maybe something blowing in the wind for Dylan was right on that one
building bridges that go across party lines in their most unique affliation
philosophically filled up with sullen brevity and everything that does the heavy deed
we often will hide behind the false hidden garb of compromise taking heed to twisted lies
Shelter me in so that I may live it all over once again my dearly beloved friend may you understand.

I read the book,
I wrote the notes and I interpreted.
I came in to school,
and the teacher told me wrong.
I my interpretation was totally off,
even though I had resonable proof for my assumptions.
I just don't see, what others see,
Ya know?

They say real eyes realize real lies
Social improvement disguised as gentrification.
Pandemics and self contained isolation,
Still doesn't stop the industrialized racism of our nation.
It's like they want me to be black, without being black,
they say black is as beautiful as the night sky,
but at the same time will make comparisons to my skin being the same colour as under the bed
you made it so lay in it.
dont try to justify your actions though the scapegoat of ignorance.
Its not bliss, its blisters.
The ice and fire of your words cause a chemical reaction that is more than skin deep,
Internally screaming, angry tears from my third eye weep.
But better not make a sound or a peep
Being an angry black man can prove to be fatal.
Labeled as a criminal but our melanin deficient counterpart's are simply mentally unstable,
our innocence and resonable doubt was left in the cradle.
Our depression was only made aparent after the dissolution of our family was concieved post-natal,
but they still want us to be grateful?
surpirsed that the thoughts from the recessess of my mind are ones that are hateful,
thinking that these blanco diablos have nothing but ill itentions
serenading me with affection and attention, while simultaneously executing their decpetion
But.... real eyes realize real lies.