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the guests are arriving, they've finally come, the work's now just starting, it's barely begun

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this life, I've been living, by some right strange rules, these gifts I've been given, must use or I'll lose

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lift up chin & dust off shin for we are brave & humble, unlike the fools who boast & bruise – they cannot help but stumble

ȯ_!Ξ¡Ɏ˚^•.Ʉ.•^˚Ɏ¡Ξ!_ȯ

a noontime sleep doth beg and creep on edges of my waking, I'll not abide nor gently glide 'till nightime bed I'm making

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a howling inferno, does blow through my mind, unless I remember to breathe and unwind

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take one pinch of reckless, and add some brass balls, then stand back and watch these young teens climb the walls

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my goal is to spread joy and lift souls and help, not merely to feed tweet poke pin like or yelp

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the center is lifting, up up from the core, I'll keep on deep breathing, and lift it some more

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I'll twist out my third eye whenever it tries to look in and back onto past woes and cries

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the commode is clogged up, and I can't tell why, the damn thing just won't flush – believe me I've tried

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from mere human wreckage, is hero made strong, to shine like that beacon, for which we all long

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how quickly bad old ghost did shrink run and hide, as soon as I re-woke the Spirit inside

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each man must start somewhere, and this place seems right, now fetch me my linens – I'm done for the night

∆'ȣ.Ψ•¤•Ψ•¤•Ψ.ȣ'∆

the stillness it calls, through all our smooth talking, one trick is to stall, and slow down quick walking

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one leg down, and countless more coming, I hear bells, and soundless deep drumming

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it was hot I learned a lot from Texan and outsider, few bug bites but some bed mites these days I feel much wiser

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a few swift marks, with nature's brush, slow down the pace, and calm the rush

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through bright blessed evening, and warm sacred night, the change it's upon us, it fuels our delight

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a proud oppressed people, defy tyranny, keep fighting oh brave souls, dear friends in Turkey

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among greatest challenge, that mankind can know, is how to have feelings, and to world them show

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Pop Time keeps on marching, across his clock-face, complaints they won't stop him, nor will this here mace

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one girl she gave up, all draped in her sorrow, and she won't be back, with us on the morrow

«Ɏ˚'*C•:Ї‡Ї:•Ɔ*'˚Ɏ»

a fistful of pudding, a flagon of meat; she played quite the good thing – she ruffled my sheet

¯'ΘƔ/∆ȯ¦Ū¦ȯ∆\ƔΘ'¯

make it quick, pack up the booty, we must hide – they're coming home

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with lion's breath, and hairs bright gleaming, they mounted flight, toward victor's praise

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we've all moved to cities, abandoned the farms, so let's please play nice now and lay down our arms

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the moon isn't something, all sullen and grand – it's a lump of plastic, that fits in the hand