Accustomed to himself, he then felt not so interesting. He knew himself too well; he thence hid out for some mystery.

Silver bullets and a stake in the heartBut the cross still awakens my heartI'm the freak of nature that's allDarling it's not the way that you are

Emotions bleed where love frowns and despair smilesMy home is within the coreThe center of this place, it lays down my heart for loveMy love's (in) the Center of War

Chance is your godThough you're falling free you will land hard

Over the joke known as coronavirusLet it be shown I chose Jehovah-jirehSo fire up the wires in the mire of the Father of LiesWhile high above, the other side in love with livesWith flying colors hovers oh He comes and flies

By(e) pen, I've tried my hand at poetry; only to see how boring it is to me. That is, unless I get a chance to destroy each and every piece while doing it as I please.

A fruitless year, take a fearless heartOne that blooms late will flourish in the dark

The trouble with poetry is it's often written to the sound of a drum only the poet may hear; nonetheless, blessed are those poets who always manage to find unshakeable pleasure in their own works.

And sincerely we're seeingWhen 'sinternally' seekingIn a manner of speakingThere, in the eve of EdenWreaked a sea that was leakingTo where we were once but merely:Like bodies paralyzed- (B)Or(ed) minds buried alive -In a loud room soundproofFallen short of the gory abroad beforeThe Lord God let us go beyond our facade