Swan Lake Gardens Paradise

Swan Lake Gardens is like paradise amid the oak thistles. Trees stand tall in the middle of the lake. Black swans, white, grey, brown, multicolored wade in the water, pick their feathers clean with their beaks, and skying across the water like a ship on the seven seas. A photographer takes pictures standing on the lake shore.

I'm bored down here with this bit role; I can't take life to heart.
Next time you're casting I'll audition for a more appealing part.

Perhaps I could portray the villain, play the evil shark -
like maybe the French Emperor, Bad Nap Bonaparte,
or have a wonderful adventure planned out from the start
and fly around the world, can I understudy Earhart?

I'll rhyme the words to rein the raging tide
and whip the pains and blues away with verse.
I'll make my rhythms like a saddle ride
to lash away the sorrows, splash the worse.

Who said that words can't speak and shout , engage
to heal the souls that always weep and grieve ?
Who said that words can't lull the hearts in rage?
They've got a worthy message, I believe.

Man’s days will soon be vaporized histories
All because a senseless desolation will reigns
After the ceremony of the nuclear rain
Earth’s landlords escorted by their landladies
And tenants will be gone into the windless terrain
Beyond the border mountains beyond styx

Twenty years have passed
since my best friend and i had spoken last

Originally legitimate reasons of concern quickly turn
into more profound statements of deterioration learned

Living in worry , based on mental stability ,
are leading causes of disappearances in most major cases

Anorexic indignations self- induced by lack of conformity
in societies reality leads to the harsh realism of the seriousness
in this situation

My occasional friend
I’m back again
With more tears this time
I’m sure it’s no crime

I do hate myself
I’m on the lowest shelf
I’ve lost my way
Stuck deep in quick clay

My mornings seem to come
With no dew or song
I dare not expect some
I guess that will be wrong

Should I undo my veil of lies?
I wonder; do I even try?
I must wash out my messy brain
And pour my filthy heart down the drain

Along the course I often go
a narrow twisting two lane road
lies a tract whose owner I don't know
bereft of even one abode

Country land not far from town
a mix of forest and fallow glade
years since any hay mowed down
there by men who scorned cool shade

Though unposted, I've not roamed this place
but I've every time slowed down to look
and think to test my halting pace
in search of a suspected brook

Let our lips meet some day, like these ..oh how sweet thy lips upon mine ...oh what a treat ...
then two angels from the outside world shall retreat ...
to in the far folds of eternity to meet ...
and
then devour each other..
hour by hour ...
till in our bones remains no more power...
and then the two entwined ,are taken away by divine... to a lovers paradise ... if there be one..
and the world of lovers ...shall in our glamour... compose romantic poetry...
like

Romeo and Juliet ..

the two of us shall be....

I was birthed in a rush,
i must hurry,
rise i must
to the surface to burst.
U see when the bottle tips beer into this vessel the race has begun.
We all shoot for a breather,a s we froth together,
in much haste we brim over
I was born a bubble,hav e a natural fear of colliding with others thus I dodge trouble mummy says i am an escapist, whatever that means. I escape thats what I do
2.
We are all candidates of the Pour for its the tipping point
when the open bottle neck is at a lower altitude to the base.

Had I known grief sooner,
recognized her and loved her
anyway
I would not have sent
her across the river, dressed
in rags and and filled with hunger,
no rice, nor love in her begging bowl...

Terrified,
growing old in the daylight like the
shadow of sorrow
all alone and
unwanted in the evening when
blind crickets play their wild harps and fireflies
punch tiny holes in the night
to reveal all that is dark-eyed.