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If love’s to muse of classic rarities, Then love’s a rose, a kiss, a timeless game, That’s played till musing procures clarities, And eyes acquire girls that have no name . . . If subtleties amuse reclusive hearts, Then musings taint the truth and all it bears, Reclusive hearts invade the eyes and smarts Of lads who wait—to miss—the girl too rare. Are subtle girls inclined to motivate Reclusive hearts that ache a drowsy crush Away from brimming, blissful eyes that wait For love’s insipid wrongs where truths are flushed?     If so, then musing’s all a beauteous lie,     And subtlety’s a

Credulous seclusions magnified in the womb of a daffodil, The tip of a blade creeps in the needles of a rising lawn, Ol' daffodil cannot flee, cannot hide nor fight, So in the womb She tries, oh She tries to depart Hortatory talks between Her blooming darling daffodils, "What shall I do, how shall I blossom?" Shan't the wind free Me quickly," Shan't the sky birth My beauty?" As the grass parts side-to-side a minion so thorough by, Ol' daffodil's perspiring glow is drained deeper than the cold, dark sea, The blade it parts, and the head it maims, Drifting away with Ol' daffodil with light tears on Her buds . . .

When we run, Along the valleys below our feet, We trace the sky, A rainbow along the street, The warm, tender sand, Girl, just take my hand, And shine all over me You are the sun, That shines on my heart, And with your love, I've drifted afar, Oh, how your kiss repairs, My heart's own despair, It all revolves 'round you (x2) When we stroll, Along the parks in May, The cardinal's sing, Their songs all for the day, The morning dew, How I love you, My girl When we walk, We watch the clouds slowly pass, They story-tell, A tale with a lovers cast, The sky so grand, Just take my hand, And shine all over me You are the su

If you are to ever trickle a touch of rain, I will hug you, hold you, Till I relieve the pain -- loveliest honeydew . . . If you are to ever wonder where I roam, I will sing to you from a lasting distance, So you can hear the racing of my heart, Just as if I were home -- loveliest, loveliest honeydew . . . If you are ever to fall to your knees and pray, I will kneel beside you, Completing every word you hoped to say -- loveliest honeydew . . . If you are to ever lack value, I will wander every mountainside, Until you hold the treasure, That had your heart at awe -- loveliest, loveliest honeydew . . . If you are to ever watch a s

Me: I can't define belittlement, unless I think a bit, and scar my pad with a lead dipped match and light you up with these words I stash, I'm a preacher with a lust for bad, A gash that expands on Satan's ass, that bleeds parasites with each trace of light that enters your mind through the day of night, Their fangs will bite, Releasing words that blind the sight, the jagged knife of lyric's strife will finally turn on you when I caress the mic, And money is the cheerful Kike, An envy disorder we all like, The greed of things sing freedom rings and you just think that it's alright, But Cezar, to rule is might, not the glare of a

If I should think of love, What figure would appear before my eyes? Of all my loves this is the first and last, A shimmering angel who must, shall, hast, Put forth my heart to have my heart, From off a hill to a drippling meadow, I'll see my love whisk the water with their charming hands, Not to look back at me but remain peaceful in their own place, And now I think of love through not the eyes of a man, But through the heart that beats only, Only for my angel.

a chance to dream, nostalgia, clear as the sky, yet sought. a rant to scream, neuralgia, clear is my voice, still lost. a time to pardon, compunction, forgive and forget, who can? a mind to bargain, dysfunction, just live and let live, be man. a prayer to chant, invocation, gods listen, no answer. affairs to slant, fabrication, lies creeping, like cancer. an hour in paradise, euphoria, lips arching, we're blessed. a second in real life, a story of, rips scarring, need rest. a heart to worship, affection, we witness, we yearn. an artist's sore wrist, defection, i twist and, i burn.