And how shall I presume,
To show the something I cannot tell,
To which there is no use-
How obtuse?

But to do so is compelling,
Like laughing or playing.
It's like listening to music
With the volume turned up way too loud.

To care to give and to give a care
Is that not life?
Do we define ourselves by how much
Or by how?

To put the world 
Into a ball; to play,
Or to disturb the universe so,
As if the anti-Christ were to awaken today,
And this is what he told;

"There is a love as free as the wind
With the compassion of a life's end.
To do more than Superman
And expect nothing but time.
Time to love and time to play,
Time to be exuberant in a merry way."

He spoke of a trap, too;
If the love is not true-
It is like the devil's soul-
Just a hole
Just a hole.

It can cause the anger of a hyena, 
And the depression of a man,
With the loneliness of a thousand deaths,
And the emptiness of sand.
To shift on a dime
And to change the world so,
To create new meaning
Of which only bad is to be told.

The way to shake the universe,
In contrary to most,
Lies in the want of the beholder-
In the light of the beheld.

More powerful than the Mona Lisa,
More artisically intrinsic than Rembrandt.
As perfect as David,
As necessary as the Louvre-
As dreamlike as a dream,
...If dreams could make such things.

The one-lit chandelier
In the passageway of the kings,
A room of riches and beauty
Only shown by a light-
The light of love that floods,
With enough light to reveal the whole room at once,
Which has been kept in the dark so long,
And yearns for the light so.

But beyond heaven there is- now
And before me lies,
In the sight and arms of time,
As if for the first time,
The embodiment of my being-
And the love I give to you
Is nothing less than true.