HER RECORD BEST

Wait, Wait, Wait a little, let the moon get dressed. 

Allow her, her sweet, noble lady time. 

She's shy, easily hidden behind clouds. 

If I took my seat beside her, her beauty would glorify my flaws. 

The opulence of her gracefulness, like beggars riding horses of free wishes. 

Found her on her usual scene, serving me poetic justice. 

She orchestrates the mood of the night, unrehearsed. 

So sweet what tales her light brings; History's own, history's very own concubine.  

My destiny it must be to touch her beauty; 

Indeed, I'll leave it all behind to explore great skies. 

Wait a little let our noble lady get dressed. 

I find a hobby in making guesses at her record best. 

I never give it my best, truly. 

Always standing in awe, amazed, devastated by her essence, 

The brilliance and quality of her presence. 

Her record best is a tale of the chicken and the egg; I can never decide

She has me dazed and hypnotized. 

She's shy, noble, just doing her duty. 

Honorary in the heart of history. 

LOVE & WAR

They say it is incredible, an incredible dream: a world in right order, flourishing in peace. 
Who sold them these unnatural dreams? Dreams of vengeance and war. 
I can't find space in this mind of mine, space for the generosity of love- it's all too vast to fill my mind. Nobody loves, Nobody cares. I've got worries and major fears.
There is an appointed time and place to recognize you and your beauty, young brother, but right now what's yours must become mine. I cannot forsake my eternal greed for your momentary need. Let us not squander our limited resources trusting one another's agenda. If I were you, I would never do that. 
I am one man with all the world's needs; one man with one man's greed, for a slipping eternity that speeds up my heart beat. 
I suffocate in my nightmares in deep sleep: blood, tears, hunger- sorrow's brothers. Tomorrow is just another tomorrow, with a rising sun, and day dreams of demise and hunger, tears and blood. I've got worries and major fears. 
As if by reflex, my eyes have been made to see the morning sun and swiftly wage wars. Waging wars is a habit, a habit of the human race. 
I wouldn't pretend that love has never imposed its power on me. For decades, I've born witness to little children play Jesus for easter celebrations. Other days, the sound of solemn plays as kids escape into a world where they become the  doctor and the fireman, soldier, and the banker.  
How do they, once characters of life's comic relief, grow up angry and antsy?
Disengaged, disconnected, disappearing within a mass of selfish desires, that quick crash down on a world and its very newborns.
Pearls. We're each Lost at sea with a plethora of pretty little pearls on strings of solemn despair. Love would make for a much better string if you ask me.
Love, a most superior raw material.