Eve of Inspiration Part 2 complete

I. Along the gilded mile I’ve been shown an open wing Riddled with confusion and the absence of a string To pull forth lurid motion as before and for begin To have sung a song as terrible as untamed shrews are then. II. Terrible to wander in the wake of waves unsure As the alabaster banisters stand ready and demure Though relevant in times of question, putrid with disdain has stung And letters unbecoming coming forth from able tongues. III. Like a candlestick awakened to its duties un-remained Scattered lightly and with reverence on the faces, over names And the gravestones lined in lining all the preachers to their graves For I have loved where to be loving means as little as does saved. IV. A poet without question is a poet without need And to hustle in direction towards a rapturous belief Always fervent never bearing towards a bear more indiscreet Than lassoed rhyming find its timing amongst emeralds and leaves. V. Cracked paint lines empty windows Left where siding used to be Near a whistle of indifference, standing lonesome, haunting me And the songbirds lose their singing where once offered love to be Then from such caring came a reason That the crackle came to see. VI. Hesitation. Observation. Dancing rhythms, Left to be. Question only conversation, Never question. Emily. VII. Seek eternal inspiration. Beyond blues skies wild and free. Above rooftops and the clouded Left to plainly plane as wee And there’s so much left to tell you And there’s so much more to see That before too long we’ve missed it all And lived before we be. VIII. Gentle seek the wandered street The patio of lust and learning Left to use a quiet yearning Never at to disregard all incident of turning Still the question, and more the judgments Seek to cloud the say from dawning. There comes a tweaking in your speaking And a squabble in your stare Poet Shakespeare. Poet Browning. Poet Dickinson. You there. IX. Whisper quiet in the silence of his resurrected tools Toil quiet there beside him and abide him to the rules Counsel easily in moments of beguiling lovers duel And remain a constant musing for his effervescent School. X. Be not egotistical, Self Righteous, and belonged Be not reverent to a master, not to any noble One For there are many in there silence who’ve said more than speakers dare And with colors far more brilliant than the latter ever share. XI. Forbid your own complacence as the measure takes its toll On a psyche often tremor-ed, often clamored, often fooled With full knowledge of the damage that can wrinkle, that can rule And with acknowledgement for angels who lay weeping in their Yule. XII. Feel the suns indifference, with tender selfless love As it shines so often strongly on her children from above And the softest waves caressing. Far the ocean. Near the shore. And be noticed by the waking of a once loved, Eleanor. XIII. There are many. There is no one. There is difference and same. To each person within question Give a sentiment, a name. And the famous fail to genius and the notable to shame As the anonymous lie waiting To be given their fair rein. IVX. Wreckage leaves impersonal the person left to blame In his shambles, in his shackles In his darling lovers game All the pieces in formation to be sent upon their war And we still sit with our writing and with padlocks on our doors. VX. There is a purpose in all nonsense and a prospect all the more That should lend itself to indecision That should keep the tattered taking for And subjects unlike instruments stand playing on their chosen gourds As the children chuckle sordid at the losing of their mores. VIX. Famished from starvation in a world so lost at sea Left to find an answer in the locker of my fee Left to right mistaken for a choice. And I between. Left with nothing but my answers and with no door to the key. VIIX. Gentle knowing was my station. Gentle knowing was the frame. And it was a heavy placement to have misheard heaven’s name To have mis-sung angels chorus, To have counted wrong again Now I worship for salvation Though we do not know its name. VIIIX. Looking back. Never forwards to a page no longer here. Hoping always to impress me with the words I long to hear. Gather nothing from your giving, taking nothing that was shown Listen slowly to the newness for it’s that that is un-known. IXX. Give him strength to conquer, conquest Send him ages for his breast To wonder heaving and so heavy To enchant him at its best Careful tender him to safety Careful solitude to wait And let heaven softly guide you To the servitude of fate. XX. She’s looking back. She’s looking back. At chicken scratch. At fatless backs. At shadow-less agreements between hell and shadow’s facts What are you looking for? What are you looking at? XXI. Are you writing to find glory? To find fame? Or are you writing for a story? Out of necessity- Or shame? Are you writing ‘cus you love me or is love another game Are you writing to find heaven, or to give me a new name? XXII. I rhyme in repetitive circles I repeat the rhythms now For no questions worth a thousand words And no picture shows us how So step lightly through the mansions built to guard the gates of youth There is no garden past forever And no shortcut to the truth. Read me, read me closely. Listen softer might you may And if tender taken toil all the mice away Then perhaps the bakers baked his last Of sugar pies today And alas they steady smuggled Behind curtains lined with fray. XXIII. I hear singing from the songbirds And from ceaseless voices say In my mind and in my body No more solitude I pray No more suffering insanity, no more hoping for the day Let the night be its own moment Let the music make its way. XXIV. Listen, listen to the rumble Listen to the mumble of the stars Disguised clever as machinery Disguised cleverly as cars For this is the very moment you’ve been waiting, waiting hours To arrive at, and to thrive at Thank the insolent new cars For they are just as much a magic is magic, which is ours. XXV. Ours is we and we are one and we have entered leaving none And we will hardly be at finish just as finish has begun These are the versus left to sum. The sung unnumbered And the unsung won. XXVI. Pertinent and transforming is the sound of halos creep Coming from beside the window and flying down the street Never have I seen a man and never will we meet A mind so finished with delight and so troubled by his feet. XXVII. Weeping for the insolent., with chagrin for the cheat. Weeping for the days to come, the hours and weeks. Wanting less than children have to give when whilst we meet And left to strangle suddenly, the unforgiving keep. XXVIII. Clouds of gray creep over skies, stained a brilliant blue Clouds a perfect shape of puff, drawn perfectly for you Clouds a name that 9 were given Clouds that change, that fall, that grew, And when at last the cloud was passed It was an angel Clouded angel That had gave its heart to you. XXIX. Scaling walls of dragon scales And chariots of fire few Joined by myths of old and ‘gotten Joined by handsome beaus of new Left to tangle rope from rail And left to make the sailing sale Its time for all to be forgiven And time what’s left to be unveiled. XXX. Tis quality not quantity, that tickles fancies by and by Though the more a writers written The more is left when which he dies.