Oh, you Neolithic Civilization,
With your bone furniture,
Spread across the world,
Worshipping your Venus.
Even in the Americas
Are you found.
Until, you are not.

Then, there comes the divide.
Oh Peleg! What did you witness!

Soon the Clovis civilization springs up
But, what had happened? Where did 
The old World,---the worshippers of the Titans---
Where did they go? Greek Pantheon,
Your war between gods and Titans.
The eldest Pantheon, remnants are remembered.
Slaughter, Grecia, the Semetic gods!
Canaan, Carthage, Moab,
Your gross Gods will be destroyed.

Thou Swallow, you fly within my breadth,
And I ponder,---twice yonder you swoon,---
The curse which shall soon descend upon me.
Yet, thou hast caused my foot to stir
And my ambling to tarry,
So that the carriage which was at my back
Was saved from the other one careening down Front Street.
So, by thy shrill warnings, thou hast caused me to be a blessing
Upon some stranger I nary knew.
For, by spying me, a pedestrian on her port side,
It left just enough time to see the other car
Which travelled at twenty-five knots.
Had I not been there, I know not---
 Perhaps it would have rent her asunder.
I see no other way... but by providence's hand
I walk with blessing, and what would be a curse is turned.

The shadow you are creeps from me;
Eternal utterances, and restless sleep.
I dream of you every night,
The magic you spin to make the demons arise.

You tell me to sit at your feet,
And by thy shadow beneath thee.
I walk for three hundred years
Doing good deeds, voiceless,
And I cannot be cheered.
The songs of the elderberry sings so sweet,
But you view me as if a woman
Falling into a bog filled with leech.
For you envision me as the one
Who cast the bread on the ground
To step on it with my new shoes proud,
But then do I fall into the hell below
And my only hope to turn into a bird and go home?
Or, am I a lad, sailing to Eden
And when I get there, I'm in eternal heaven
Only to run after the beautiful bride
And lose in one day my eternal paradise?

Fairytales I sing to you
Have not a happy ending, oh so very few...
For I admit I have broken my trust
In my own hands, so how do I love?
If my life were Romance would I be Romeo?
If my life were a tragedy, would I be Lear?
If my life were reality, would I be Christian?
If my life were a sitcom, would I be Brandon?

So, give to me at least, my one happy story
And I'll spin a fairytale so pleasant.
For if my life were a fairytale,
Would I survive?
Or would I be the hare who snubbed the hedgehog
And while running my eternal race die?

I don't know.

This Poem is about all my haters
Inspired by Crown the Empire's
"Menace".

You call me a "worthless F*ck"
I ask "Is that what you call love?"
And do you love your brother enough?

When you're alone, and wandering,
And I'm in places you'll never see,
We'll ask each other
Why did God make us free?

And when I look at you
I'm going to know it was your attitude
Which as a teenager, I admit I did have,
But as a grown ass adult, I lost it all, Had
I been like you, a hateful little worm,
I still don't say you're evil
But speak saccharine sweet
Which causes me cancer
Though we will never meet;
Until that day when the stars all will fall
And the sun snuffed out,
My love is ignited for all...
Where will I be?
My verse is so pure?
It proved God has loved me
And you were so cursed?

I still say, I love you my dear,
And if you'd just listen I'll have you some cheer
That if you simply would practice what you say you do preach
You wouldn't be writing so many songs about me.

I join Poetry Club---
Not really, but let's pretend---

I walk in, and there's pretentious Jackass
Who all the group fawns over.
His art is mediocre, but they all insist he is god's gift to letters.
I show my writing,
And immediately they pounce all over it.
They criticize everything it's done right---
Like the pretentious brown nosers they are--
And like the game I played today,
Of posting in a category---
There is the true artist,
Me,
Lonely, and blowing in the wind.
I'm late to the game.
I'm early for the game.
I do not time my art
Except for the larger picture.
I do not craft my art to be timely.
Rather, I do my art from the sheer joy of doing it.

Some generation will recognize it,
But hopefully it is my own
So I am not one of those unhappy artists who
Never benefited from the Providential Gift of utterance.

As Solomon says,
"There is such a man who labors for wisdom,
"But lo, it goes to another. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,
"That which man labors for under the sun."

You are Analytic and Continental.
You read my poem, and say,
"The analytic in me thinks it's good.
"The continental thinks it's 'meh'."
You ask me to tell you my inspiration,
Well, it is precisely that both
Continental and Analytic philosophies
Are sophistic.
And a good epistemology
Is rooted in aligning Phenomenon to Noumenon;
Thereby, I propose a different philosophical school.
It is called "New Philosophy"
Though it is indeed the old philosophy.
For, we were closer to the truth during Plato
Than we were during Hurrels.
And we were closer to the truth during Aristotle
Than we were during Wittgenstein. 

1929
Coolidge, in his booming economy,
Does nothing, as Margin Trading 
Becomes available to the public.

2008
Reagan, in his booming economy,
Does nothing, as Private Equity
Buys the worker out of their wage.

I have been watching proofs---
Oh, their poetry is so serene---
And I realize NP difficulty
Is much like a Geometric Proof.
Rather, to solve them, requires
Not one master equation
But solving the difficult variable
By combining other basic theorems
To further build upon to a right and new solution.