whatever you write
i'll believe

i believe in your imagination.

In death's dulled aftermath
weeps the house

none sees its tears
for the one it held within
for many years

who it nurtured in walled comfort
inducing a sense of permanence

till last night under the stars
came to fetch him the hearse

and he left without caring a fig
in haste for the final benediction
and the burning logs

feigning a peace

as if he wouldn't miss
and not be missed
under the sun
by anyone.

One man less
the house too would heal.

Death is not a big deal.

Two blue duck eggs
Had got me smitten
Halted my legs

Picked them to be eaten!

Had enough of the hen’s
They tasted so stale
Said my clever sense

Duck eggs would serve well!

Brought home the oval two
Two pearls whitish blue
Thought it precious gotten

Lo both of them were rotten!

i want your garden
sprout from the earth
breathe you in
consume all of you

i want to feel
green in my feet
in between my toes
it can't be beat

the sweetest smell
it's like the fuel
i know it all
a little too well

the warm embrace
what is this place?
it seems you've left
without a trace

who are you now
you've left me again
i feel the fear inside
purer than the water
that brought us here
it's beginning to get to me

inside I am waiting
it's all aggravating
all the pain forsaking
no more belly aching
this time saturating
the power mine for taking
it's really quite groundbreaking
the inner workings greatly
just hold yourself impatiently
while the world keeps changing
driven mad screams angrily
sitting here relating
it has to come so hastily
remember we can live freely
starting with our inner being

You were loved
It was a burden
You thought it would be unfair
To not return the love
So you let the deafening silence
Fill the room where your voice
Should have been

I know
You were afraid to love
And now
So am I
If it is not
You

Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.

Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.

And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.

If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest

Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.

Moral:

Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour,
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair,
E'en from a fading flower

Love's the boy stood on the burning deck
trying to recite "The boy stood on
the burning deck." Love's the son
        stood stammering elocution
        while the poor ship in flames went down.

Love's the obstinate boy, the ship,
even the swimming sailors, who
would like a schoolroom platform, too,
        or an excuse to stay
        on deck. And love's the burning boy.