How many ills makes a troubles worth
When bad fortune like the moon eclipses the rays of lustrous fortuityÂ
And shrouds its virginal affection.
Not one, not none because there in heavy armoured disguiseÂ
does Lucifer adopt the wings of angels, turning bountiful grape to seeping carnage.Â
You see, I can get fancy with words too
Words give taste to feeling, they translate what the heart can’t expressÂ
Though most people think they need a sonnet or a miracle,
I know that simple is best.Â
I might write like Shakespeare, Wilde or Kipling,Â
But what gives ode to my mind better than the words my brain is reeling
See, thoughts happen so fast – I guess that’s why they say they ‘run away’ with you
Like silly lovesick teenagers, giggling and chasing the moon.Â















