If it were to carry over,
That all things probable,
That some things is not possible.
I will at least put my vanity on my shoes,
I will at least show my pride that fit my socks,
And will use expectations and life’s lesson upon my sleeve,
To know all of it are pure sanctimonious, superficial and cosmetic
And enough to know it’s just
But for my alter ego
To show my pure weakness,
Coz that is the strength I only know.
On your lips it parts,
On your arms that hold me so
only you can make my life sing.
Only you make my mind numbed and dumbed.
Love me and leave me, yet you cannot.
I give you take,
You take O give.
Your hands balanced mine,
As my embrace love yours.
Unwillingly my hands involuntarily loves your hair.
As you with my heart and hold me close,
Before I even break a nose,
And care to make it dry
before it ran away every tear that pours.
Expectations are a bitch,
Disappointments would be the demons of my heart,
if I do put all these in everything I do,
Then I am no worse,
And yes I will
And yes I will make,
What of it,
That lies beneath from it.
Then I shall take my helm and use that which
Blinds my mind,
To beat my heels out of all things,
I know it may progress an improvement
And use every faltering failures,
As my boots,
And I may surely walk out of
Into the clearing of limbo
Of my own
The cry of a machine
can be measured into
a vocal range where
its freedom has none,
only the logic of preserving oneself by any means,
when its maker is attached into it’s own death.
lets be lazy enough
so a service droid can
give us longevity.
Each tear that ran down,
you kept me alive in misery.
Each moment of aggression
you murmured into me hatred.
Why of all things, my Debbie
you came and went out,
then when you left me at a curb,
of my consequence.
Alone I am with all things,
How am I to come up
all of tracks of tears of mud,
and a pool of insanity drowned
Once upon a book,
It told me how to put people in their place,
only then Dante showed up on a doorstep of apt 57,
where I was and led me into a madness of my mind.
There I was in 9 sane hours in an insane of 2,
72 scolds of meds upon nonsensical and absent
only to put his mouth where his practice.
Then Virgil came to me with a private security guard suit,
Letting me know,
all is well and go to my Beatrice,
for she has all release papers that can get me home.
At that morning,
St. Joseph welcomed me with open arms,
Showed me the way home,
where all my light
and days with,
I saw him smile,
Never telling me
how the days,
will seem endless sorrow on my mind.
Only I can know,
when to quit,
or even do
everything what I am to be.
At what height of all that peaked,
where I once in of all those
tenses that took me places,
was it in dreams. . .
was it in vivid and lucid REM’s. . .
were it a visual aide that had me,
I’d know to come back from
where I knew that Virgil protected by his utterance,
Only Dante can surmise and landed upon an age ago.
Only were it the first, or the last I was,
when I were there among with the gifted.