A summer breeze and myrtle’s tang
The streets are misty from the rain
They underneath the street lamps hang
So tell the boys come home again
And cease with their romancing

Calliopes of burgundy
Obstructing all the sounds nearby
So which way must I look to see
The wind-swept swallows swoop the sky
And watch their joyful dancing?

There’s pleasure there in peeking up
The heavens churning, brown in hue
So let the raindrops fill their cup
And let us hold each other to
Prevent the dusk advancing

Thus incense sweeps the streets with calm
The leaves are laden down with dew
As evening gently takes my arm
And leads me through my thoughts to you
For no one’s more entrancing

Stranger than a stranger man feels
when a straw man falls out of trust,
full of falsehoods, and full of lust.
When this disease finally heals
it forms a scar, ripped open, gnarled,
but soulless, ghastly in silence,
meted out in lieu of violence
on his heart, with lips ensnarled.
But can man soothe invisible,
ancient wounds that demand regard,
deeming his broken and marred
heart no longer divisible?
Is it all too much to ask why
a seemingly sensible and
charming man would hide his hand,
and with inaction dignify
actions of others for his goal?
Certainly it's there to wonder -
if his soul weren't torn asunder,
what on Earth can make a man whole?