My thumbs have been bouncing,
back and forth, from the backspace
button since Friday evening.
Gazing upon my words in disgust;
going nuts- insane:
because I think my plane
has just derailed.

Upon an eighth floor balcony,
the wind whispers, such, silent screams.

He decides, under the moons beams:
to the gusts, he longer wishes to talk.
He rises to the edge, as the winds mock:
feet leaving the ledge, he begins,
  duskdreaming, pondering,

'I wonder, of the streams-
  in B.C.- in which does her heart lie?'

Upon the concrete sidewalk
below the eighth floor balcony:
  the wind's whisperous screams
   have been silenced, so it seems.

All the vile old men,
spitting fire at their peers,
are: (just) child poets
who've lost their pen,
over all (of) their miles and years.

I do a lot of internalized talking:
into late hours of the night.
so I'm bound to stumble upon,
  (Surely, I just might!)
something substantial- sometime.

How I wish: that she were enthralled-
by the idea of spending time with me.

"This petulant peasant- this, so called,
man, or boy, who dreams of thee
before and after- he go to sleep!"

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "The things I would do,
   to transform to a fly
   upon the walls of your room!"
   (Everything!)

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "Admiring you, I flew-
   around the pillow I wished was mine:
   the one lying next to you!"
   (Oh, how I wish!)

Oh, me!
"If only I could portray, so that you knew-
  all of the beauty, within you, that I see."
Oh, my!
 "What I would give- to be your guy!"
   (Anything!)

Oh, me!
Oh, my!
  "If only I could transform to be-
   a fly: hovering above thee." 
  (Alas, it's just another pipe dream.)

The Queen has received my request,
to bestow her with this peasants presence.

Oh- how I feel so very blessed:
that she has reviewed the plea's,
to embrace her in conversation,
within my maundering mind.

Oh, no! Is it what I sense?!
Is she going to ice me:
like the harshest of winds?!

Please, my dear, answer my message!
Even if just to say "God, no!"

I need assurance of the wreckage
that has just taken place.

I, merely, reckoned
I'd put it out there to consider.

The vessels within these brown eyes
have burst many, a, times- before;
and- I'm sure that it shall continue
happening, regularly, in the future.

As I stumble, ******, down the avenue,
I come to grips with something! I realize:
that nothing in life is eternal- (for sure)
and we all, eventually, greet our demise.
  
(Will you be ready?)

The beauty of it all- is ever so pure!
  This life is a mere interlude!
(& there is more to come after the show!)  

  Do not, when I'm gone,
   release mournful cries.

For I- will be flying away from Eldorado-
with such magnificent magnitude!

(Don't get it misconstrued!)

I have not died!

(No!)

I am the hues of purple
across the wonderous Western skyline:
if that is where you chose to see me.