I'm headed to take the St. Lazare pass,
to an empire of warm Silver beaches,
to an empire of greener growing grass,
to such an exquisitely calm region,
to the empire of Princess Cassandra.

To an empire where I would love to stay-
for, about, forever plus a few days.
To an empire where I would love to be-
for, about, an eternity plus three.

A place where thunder rolls over misty skies;
a place where I find myself lost- and found-
in her light brown eyes.

Eyes like: thee most fertile of all o' the soils-
& a touch of a beehive's sweetest o' honey.
Eyes that: shine like diamonds of the royals-
& couldn't be outshone by any amount o' money.

One where Sunshine reaches, so, far from east-
over the water- setting in a vibrant gleam;
leaving me with joy, happiness, and peace.

Surely- this isn't only an amazing daydream-
  leaving my heart with visions of apple trees.

So- here I sit, where the fire was lit,        
daydreaming about that ole' apple tree
- 'twas a September Ruby, I do believe    
-  if I've, correctly, remembered it.  -      

I'm hoping that with every coming moon:  
her highness will call on me- each 2nd of June
and allow me to shower her with affection.

Honestly- times with her are perfection.

One princess has headed west;
the other shall flee east.
&- of me, all that'll be left:
is a loveless, lonely beast.

I wish them both the best
before sipping upon distilled yeast
& hops. Then- I, drunkenly, flop
into my big, empty nest,
in an attempt to rest-
 this mind, so distressed .

Sweet Phillip, estranged brother o' mine;
what was it that drew you to a life of crime?
A half decade had came and gone-
since you hadn't reeked o' wine.

"My brother, what is wrong?"
I should've asked;
but- you hid so well behind that mask..
You hid those crying eyes-
and that, alone, led to your demise.

And now, sweet brother o' mine,
as I stand over your tomb- I realize:
there is no more time for you, - barely I,
to make new friends
or- amends with ole' ones.

We, two, have been bound to be murdered
since the, very, moment we left the womb.

It looks, as though, they got to you first,
and they left the ground blue.
Surely- it confused them
when they shot through-
your head and didn't see any red.  

What lies ahead?
How can the world be so mean?
An angel has fallen, down, dead-
unto the Muddy Waters
beneath the trees a-green.

The Death of Phillip Crowley in 20-16-
left dew in the eyes of the Faery Queen.
She will miss how his eyes did gleam
She will miss how his mind did dream.
She will miss him- and so will I.
            (sigh)

Good bye, my brother-
may we see one another,
another day..
maybe.

Oh, shimmering Jules!
What has happened, to your radiant glow;
and- why, dear, do you sound so sinister?

But- Jules, do you not know:
that some of thee most meaningful literature
has spawned out o' heartbreak and sorrow?

Has it not been shown: that- tis',
only, human nature to scribble scriptures
o' how we've lived beyond cloudy horizons-
and greeted each tomorrow with new wisdom
and a, truly, heartfelt smile?

  (A heartfelt smile.)
I hope to see one return to your face-
if- even- it takes a while.

Seeing you this jaded, my dear,
is causing my peace o' mind to begin fading.

I hope you begin to feel better-
and- a smile you can find in the mirror,
sometime, in this ever-changing year.

It appears you've gotten me all wrong!

Though, I'm not surprised:
this fluffy exterior looks quite domesticated,
  now doesn't it?

A predator caressed within sheep's flesh;
I've been in this rueful disguise, all along.

I feel: you'll be incredibly impressed
should I choose to unrobe, (and) undress-
my thick scraggly fur from beneath.

You see, you cannot make a mess-
of someone's body with a sword's sheath.
It takes a sudden pull to reveal the edge
of the blade that is so very forceful.

If force is what you want from me,
I will cause the rest of the wolves
to fear letting out the slightest whimper
towards mother moon.

Soon, my dear:
I will run alone in the strongest pack;
  creating an atmosphere
  that you are enthralled by -
  & beg to be my bad as' b'tch.

My eyes are black:
because sleep, often, defeats me
in the brutal Battle of My Bed.

The art of counting sheep
is one that- this head has not mastered.

So, as such, the damp tobacc-
o- keeps my lungs looking,
dreadfully, similar to my eyes.

The alcohol that keeps me plastered
is withering away my liver.
& death, one day, shall be delivered-
unto me.

"What's my message,"
   they asked,
"Underneath all your words, masked,
   what do you want them to hear?'

"Well...

Once our atmosphere mirrors
the one upon Mars and-
there's no longer anyone left to sit
& watch the stars...
Even then, shall my heart be in civil wars
with my head.

( The bickering will extend-
      long after I'm dead )

Once we've all left this space,
I'll still remember her face.

& once we all last say 'goodbye,'
I'll still be wishing that her & I -
were once well acquainted.

So, I suppose-
That's what I wish for her to hear...
But, I haven't anything to say."

"Uhm... Okay,"
   they say.