If I break myself in half
and give you each a piece,
what then is left of me?

such a peaceful rain
even the fierce crocodile
bathes with the zebra

Revisions without adjectives:

rain eases the dust
as the zebra freely bathes
among crocodiles

rain eases the dust
as the crocodile forgives
the zebra bathing

I am the hour
of three a.m.
I was born from midnight
most mercurial...
I have since matured
like a vintage wine,
whose body aged through time.
From the whisper of evening
and its premature celebration,
of black velvet night.
I bring dreams,
both restless or serene
I have the ability
to make grown men weep.
I whisper of love and death
into your deepest desires I seep.
I am the silently active hour
that is in parallel
with old souls.

The following scenario imagined
after the hoopla of
Democratic National Convention miracle workers
Kamala Harris and Tim Walz
trumpeted politically wholesome zeal,
and achieved advancement
propelling them ahead
in the race to the White House.

Unlike the hangdog expression of Eeyore
the current vice president of the United States
linkedin with governor of Minnesota
woke the electorate and victory they did score.

When playing the game of Phantasmagoria,
I was filled with a curious sense of euphoria.
Not aware if I were awake,
Nor if my reality was at stake.
Pondering at the state of my dysphoria.

I felt fear and anxiety appropinquation,
In this game's creative station.
Where supernatural forces held my mind,
Devoid of intentions, neither good nor unkind.

Yet amidst my state of fear and dread,
I wondered at my ability to metamorph instead.
Could Xerophytization be the key?
To avoid the drought that consumed me.

VICTORY

At dawn, the Emperor emerged from his tent
He checked his sabre and well-worn tricorn hat
Today’s engagement would reflect time well spent
With honour at stake, not just some local spat
And knowing what accepting this challenge meant
A blood soaked field and all his men knowing that
We’re here to defend our country, all would say
And still be standing at the end of the day

My faults are many, my sins are very few,
Betraying myself daily as I bend and break for you.
I feel lacking, but excessive at the same time.
Begging forgiveness, never knowing my crime

I wake up trembling, after your day demanding
Anxious, hearing you across the landing.
Nervously hesitant I come to my feet,
Panicked by which mood, today I will meet.

You traded my love and affection
For drama chaos and Attention,
I would of done anything for you!
How could you be so cruel?

This is the life I never dreamed of.

I dreamed of a life of solitude and silence,
wandering the globe with boots and a rifle,
a family of brothers...

I never dreamed of hearing the pitter patter
of tiny feet in the morning,
dancing in the kitchen,
falling into someone's arms

I never dreamed of this life...
but maybe, I dreamed too small...

This life...
is too good to be true.

When quills are dipped in vessels and veins,
when ink is but a shade of red,
then all they'd spell are woes and pains,
and stories of less happy ends.

Where all we tread is out of lamps,
and quills are dipped in vessels and veins,
then how to feet happy iambs,
the lands we live are all insane.

When all the words just yell in vain
in lands that turn to battle fields,
and quills are dipped in vessels and veins,
can words be then a real shield?

If I ever beheld tears
Falling from your heavenly and celestial,
Ocean like eyes
I'd wrap my fractured hand around you,
Not moving until the ache and grief
Drifted far away
From your precious and treasured being,
While my words
Would find their way to you
Carrying the warmth of thousand stars
Soothing your tender heart