How does it feel?
How does it feel?
How does it feel
knowing none of these old poems are for you?

Maybe at some point my soul cried for you
My other half
The one who balanced me in all ways
The missing piece to my completion
I will never know
But you came
Hacking through the thorns
Taming the wild garden I buried myself in

This wild heart
Calmed with kindness
Opened to welcome love
Guided to accept my worth

My soul cried for your love
And you came
I will never be alone again

Face-paint and a checklist set,
Routine tricks and heart that beats.
Innocence pleased and wonder shared,
With coupled hands and vision blurred.

Coloured fortune masquerades,
As crinkled eyes remember well.
Lithesome youth brings light to shade,
Stifles dark and empty days.
                                        
Box and hats exaggerate,
Buttons broken call to mind.
Praise for present details found,
In simple cues and objects round.

Silence weeps in lonesome ease,
Of home and tears that shed.
Weary in his aging skin,
His mind will rest free of sin.

When you scatter your truths you bury your reason.
Every word was a fracture she pained to meet my gaze.
It was then I knew the truths she had  denied.

We are but dreams void of thought.
Creatures seeking approval yet swimming in rejection.
Night I embrace you alone in thought.  

When pain is certain plessure must become
a nightmare for i feel nothing in the hours in which i write.
My hollow thoughts just a means to reflect reason.

Ive found friends are but a nice thought to which I cannot remember.
the end is near.

For within her eye's I see the face held close not my own.  
And the regret of a man standing befor her.
Sometimes the best path is one we walk alone.

All are architects of Fate,
  Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
  Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low;
  Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
  Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
  Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
  Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
  Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
  Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
  Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
  For the Gods see everywhere.
Let us do out work as well,
  Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
  Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete,
  Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
  Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
  With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
  Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain
  To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
  And one boundless reach of sky.

I won't use my umbrella
To shelter myself from the rain;
Instead I'll turn it upside-down
To capture as much as I can
While I dance in the downpour
To rhythms all my own,
Vulnerable to Lady Weather's whims,
Feeling completely at home.

Come join me in celebration!
Rejoice with me, my friend;
Seize the chance to splash and spin
Before the shower ends.
See how the water gathers
As we join in laughter here;
With the beads of Heaven's bounty,
Drops of cheer will appear.