Life's Little Lamentation

Kevin is dead, so this blog is dead until he is ressurrected.

Move my hands, please toil across the table and reach for that damned pen should the hill of books finally enable. Write my pen, the damned pen's jammed and reach for another damned pen across the table my hands travel. Grab that pen, move my hands, the cylindrical comedian laughs and how my mood instantly cuffed. Throw the pen, a new one he lends, and suffer I not the discriminal procedure of infernal codes hell-sent. Please my hands, not that damned pen, and suffer my heart the squalor of but the hundred thousand lifetime's rants.

The fine morning sun! Tempts sleepless grass around my legs to cling onto my skin and adorn which with pearls of dawn's dew All around me the world sleeps as I try to find peace in a peaceful world and laugh at those who try too hard in a lesser one The fine morning sun! Climbs up the bright blue sky Glares at my warming hair; they stand a conclave pride to be counted I wrap my hands around you tips of my fingers caressing every crevice and smell I do of your kept and unchecked fragrance The fine morning sun! It is a little too fine but for the wind he a cheeky fellow and he my only need satisfied As I continue to keep you company you pour your heart out to me and I hear every word you speak urges me to stop and think Alas, the fine morning sun no more! the wind stops satisfying dews denied existence till tomorrow but still I find you in my hands lying I rejoice at the time so still and yet that moment she approaches envious of our loving embrace she seeks to destroy The nature'

There is something I want you to know about how I feel but I am afraid to tell about things I should keep still And amidst the struggle and the pain about how you feel I am desperate to know just how you cope with my heart being milled I want to know about how both of us feel but just a moment later if I felt less of you I shall again feel There is something I want to know about how you feel and it is not just the nonchalant one but very much about me still. I am selfish and ignorant and crazy and a foolish fool who thinks he feels but all that for just one daisy who ought not grown a glimpse on his field And if ever I had the chance to tell of how I feel ; I am sure of the answer, yes - honoring which my heart breaks at pressure

Sometimes I can be with the one I want it seems easier to be with her than to be with someone you most want but can't. Sometimes I cannot be with the one it seems easier to fall back and let many others come and you think you are with the one. Sometimes I think it's wrong to see someone it seems seeing too much will make you think less of someone. Sometimes I wish everything has just one meaning but it seems even that in itself bears a thousand different outcomes.