The one that is the poet,
Leads women through his duet,
The mystery the mistress
A lyrical symbol of distress, though a dolt.
The one of many pieces,
Dire distress lonely abode,
of one so many yet one to know:
The perfect stem grows petals on them,
but just one blossom of the perfect bosom,
Is to call diversion.
And yet there are those who suffer.
Neglect and then concise all emotion into one singular thought.
One molecular whiscal foresight
of plain bland destruction.
As us all is on a platter of cation.
A charge driving catalyst to obscurity of the perfect circle.
Karma of cause and coincidence to construction of the being.
Pen of thoughts, pen of some and;
Pen of Many.