Seven years ago
my life was a riot,
Scattered and deafening.
The roar of possibility
was so loud
I hardly heard it.
I was too busy to notice,
looking for silence.

Six years ago
the melee stopped.
The cacophony that
I had lived with
for so long
stilled, replaced by
the pulse of my own heart.

Five years ago
I was warned
that my heart may stop.
It might be
torn away from me.
I was taught to fear silence.

recently
having observed so many folks
on various forums
across the Internet

A discovery unveiled of its own
half the ones who waste time on the Internet
are either narcissists
egoists
or frustrated human beings
want to be known

Who am I
an unknown entity
what a pity
no one seeks the one
who feels the most
to be sought after

but society trances
such a one
feel the plight of frustration wantonly
if you may like to accept it

A thousand years ago as I recall
my life was ever easy and carefree;
today as I crawl slowly up the wall
I wonder can this imbecile be me?
I’m in a spin, or else out of my tree
still nothing seems to work the way it ought;
my insecurity is plain to see
since every single nerve is frayed and fraught.

Is there an answer to the questions brought
into some kind of focus now and then?
The war within my mind has been hard fought
yet I’m retreating unbowed to my den.

I want to touch the clouds. I
want to know if I can stand
on it, and what it feels like. I want
to watch the water come up
to the clouds as it builds up
and gets ready to rain.

Honey-coated words
and empty praises
will only make me blind
to the turns and phrases.

I don't need
a mountain of flattery
to hide the holes
in the fabric of my poetry.

I long to mend them
with wisdom from friends
who are willing to teach,
to see my lacking reach its end.

If you wish to know
The depth of this person's heart,
Allow this person
To pour you a cup of tea.
Now, with this meager talent,
I shall play you a tune
And accompany it with a song.

"In the farthest courtyard of the manor
A madam is combing her hair
In a room illuminated
By a candle light -
Her face a flower,
Lips sweet cherry,
Hair draped like a willow.
The flame flicks.
Her eyes show a gleam.
With a smile she looks towards the door -
Just a gust of wind.

limbs are swaying with the gusts
singing sonnets to the brush
clouds are running in the rush
thinning hairs become all fussed
this walk the lonely solitaire
refresh the air in craniums lair
frustrations pent up simmering
dare

You are told that at
6:60pm you will be able
to do anything! There
would be no more laws,
no more newton's laws,
no more anything that you
are always told that you cant
do. It's like the purge but with
magic.

It turns 6:00 and you start to
stare at the clock. You think
about what place you will rob,
what you will get, and where
you would fly after. It turns 6:30
and you get excited. only 30
minutes' you told yourself.