Can you feel the winds blowing?
Can you feel the moon pull the tides?
No,
No I really can’t.

I walk down a dirt path through a certain wood, alone,
Wearing courage…and folly, for the Laestryogons
Are of another land, far from here, where Pythos slithers,
But that’s of another matter, another matter completely.
Regardless, recant and reiterate [here you must leave all wariness
Behind, all trace of cowardice must be extinguished.]
Well I relinquish my stronghold over to the others.

It may be insidious to some but I must ask,
Why the stripes, why the stripes?
They did not unify all different types.
The apple is useless after it ripes.

I think I’ll sit and drink tea till the sun sets, and repeat.
And when I’m stretched out, stretched out thin
I will sit and gaze and grin,
At a passing cloud, a squirrel, a tree,
At the warbling from the aviary.

Running trees and sun rays,
wind brushing and pressing on to my skin
Saline taste, that will be with me, always.
But a genuine smile will be a sin.

Yes, I am almost there,
where i found myself,
where i found them crystals, so rare.
Before that i was hidden in the shelf.

My sorrow and pain will wash away,
the second I touch that ground.
The power of the mask will be tamed ,
and the masked people will be astound.

Loving people and their vibes.
The epoch of my past will be revived.
The fruit of jollity, again, ripes
And the agony resigns

But something scares my heart.
The goodbyes.
Will I be able to start again after the depart?
Would I have to, again, live in lies?

No! My mind is ready to take it all.
To absorb the pain of the departure.
It will sure be a hard fall,
but it will merely be a fracture.

So, yes, I'm here, where i found myself,
where I found them, my rare crystals,
who pushed me out of the shelf.
But the departure will hurt me with a pistol.

Platter platter, raindrops sink
as I breathe along.
Like time do clouds melt,
revealing the dark of the dawn.

Grey in the blue as dreams fly,
the clock haunts the night.
Memories, like a two legged throne,
feed some devils in disguise.

Cold, as the sleep ripes,
questions finally meet destiny.
The throne now sees no might,
light remains to be my darkest mystery.

I  Travelled the weary tribes of willow,
mellow the climes of  starry up above fellow;
the waning grace shined with  no diffidence,
well oh well the white berry ripes in confidence

Follow the path which goes to the lake of the wild,
One I spend as a child, some thousand nights
staring at the Argos with starry eyes,
painted and clothed by the skies
of thousand nights with pearly whites,
soul tainted and clotted, one cries
and dies for the beauty is of no mild

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Old ripes