qyoo

Once a poet created a marvelous poem That made all his friends very proud just to know him It told of a trickster and his fantastic feats With beautiful rhymes and rhythm-ic beats A "Skeleton Boy" who stood up to his fears. The poet was writing for more than three years But just at the beginning of year number four He announced, "Now I don't have to write any more! The story is finished, it's totaled, complete It's done, it's wrapped up, it is tidy and neat! And because it is perfect without any equal There is no way in hell that I'm writing a sequel!" Then he sold his poem and he made lots of money Because people loved it –

I am a man of faith. I am a man of loyalty. I am the void between conflict and tranquility. I am the soul fluttering, lost within the accusations of humanity. I am the sight beyond scent, the taste beyond feel. I am the withered winds of integrity; I am all that is real. I am the laws of the universe perpetually free. I am the tides diminishing deep into the sea. I am the sands of time sentenced to the rain. I am the observer, I feel no pain. I am the trial of solitude flourishing through the vein. I am the passion of ambiguity I have no name.

The Lovers Walking down the path of life Full of sorrow full of strife Chance will bring good and bad Sometimes happy sometimes sad When you find a lover true She can make you feel so new Meeting at a lovers tryst Deep within a woodland mist Moonlight silvers branch and leaf Edging all in white relief They greet each other with a kiss Full of passion full of bliss With arms entwined they embrace He of iron she of lace Their two hearts race as one Running fast it’s just begun Flames of passion soaring high The moon looks down from the sky Laying upon the grass of night Looking up they use their sight To view the heave

A low chord is strung as your feet touch the floor, the cello’s dull hum felt through to your core. The great chandeliers illuminate the wide room, as couples join hands and step in time with the tune. A hand is stretched forth, followed by a curt bow, you take up the offer, arm in arm now. The orchestra flies by as you pick up the pace, your partner watching you, with a smile on his face. The dancers whoosh by, bright colours spinning around, each pair moving perfectly in time with the sound. Your weight shifts from one foot as you fall into his clutch, your heart races wildly from his loving soft touch. His face

I left a trail              of red berries         and evergreen leaves

By answering these questions of old I cannot solve the world, my love. But I give you treasure; to have, to hold By answering these questions of old. Yet if answers are a small child’s gold Questions are a child’s weapon, love. By answering these questions of old I cannot solve the world, my love.

Waking to an empty site, Where you were never here, And as I start look I find you, And you just sit and stare. And we'll wake once again, And stumble blindly through the day, And we complain about everything else, While we really want it to stay that way. We hate the control we have, The control over our own lives, We don't want the responsibility, We just want to find a way to survive. Tomorrow we'll find someone, Upon whom we blame all our faults, And when nothing changes again, We'll find someone else for the results. And where we belong seems, To just be where we take the blame, And anywhere we lay to rest, home, It's

She was sad, that much I remember. She said it was “because of strawberries,” and I had no idea what she meant. I think it was their smell, something about it wafting up between the auburn curls of her hair, and settling between her eyes, something that warmed that part of memory where she housed the once, but not twice, familiar. I could see her in a sun hat, plucking those sad-scented rubies from her grandma’s garden, and the sun-warmed smile of youth, the kind of youth that thinks the knee high green of bristling shrubbery houses the forever, the kind of youth that knows only the eternity of seven years. There, under the