The Price of my Prudence, is
like the woes of an unrequited
man's rose. Stolen by thorns.

My mind is a mixture of rues.
Blue and promise, stir in my stew.
Rise in the morning, the sun will dew.

The leaves of grass, they
are best refered to. I'm sure
solace will find somewhere,

Even in the darkest of shade,
where the willow's refuse
to let father's light shine through.

Waking up yet, leaves stuck to
my mat. Hair tangled yet shorn.
I'm supposed to be near her, without

These shadows casting among
this tree's sprout. Carnal composure,
I am sure that this is a moment that,

doesn't defy words. Scope my hope!
I know the feeling bringing me
to be left alone. Too many detours

Have been spent wildly, like fortunes
we watch dwindle at the hands of
those sworn to always keep kindle.

Yes, those we know are enlightened.
Those we loathe in envy from such
intrinsic bliss they precipitate.

Those whom I lavish in ever
greeting. A meeting, a day I'd
starve and choke on incessantly.

Ferns in dense groves, now
deceased due to the tender's
miscount and woes.

Wouldn't even reciprocate
my contempt in ever ruining
such a day that hands like

Yours and mine should take hold.
Only to briefly touch and feel,
that warmth which I'd sought

So vividly in dreams where
the nights were my wretched
home. Wholesome and authentic,

An aesthetic charm I yearn only
to make this rhyme. So the sun
rises, takes way and is starkly bright.

Lights over unwilling cheeks finally
sucumb. Yet this numbness doesn't
wake as easily to a morning's forlorn stake.

At a path whose way I know,
by heart, by soul. I am not obliged
to take on a trail of dust settled long ago.

Among deadwood, of trees and my
contemporaries. Who know that this
green outreach of comfort, is not all

Bread and buttered coins, sunken to
the bed of the sharpest creek, running
away from the sludge of the meek forest,

And all those whom it keeps. This forest
is grave and overgrown. Hands like mine,
blistered and retired, are no such niche to

This mischevious place. I can see that
the light takes all it can hold. While the
tree's shadows capture all needed to keep cold.

A dwelling under distantly dominate darkness.
My home and domain to where no man,
brings pestilence as from the other world.

It can be fortold, that this poem
is no such assurance of any place such
as the one so envisioned within this whole.

I know the price of prudence, and my
own hole within this peculiar piece. I am
sworn to retain this within a transparent

Soul, and disclose nothing to all coveting
to unfold. My deepest woes and wishes. I am
unknown to all those speculating my bones.

Like fire and ice, I eat away mercy, and bring
solidity to misery. This forest, where ever it
may be, brings light and dims discourse

Within it's own prudent growth. So ink may
stain, and regret tarnish happiness's stay.
But I am here alone, in a forest whose

Only here to grow, and flourish.
Proliferate and nourish all those
sworn to be part of such a busy bowl.

Of life, this life as we so dearly know.
Brings pain and prudence, all within
the days continuance. Like the hands

Of labored lulls, grounds will reach
death, and lies will hold no depth.
I am part of a benevolence leaning

On ambivalent souls.