That raven ..
Private name
On some other fifth'
The back to future warning.

Twisting up the paragraphs
Into new waves in his hands.....

Writing poetry
Without caring
And reciting the word
Based on intonation.

Without a plea to God,
Eye al'ready understand.
And, if I had a chance,
I'd talk with you again.

I heard you once.
I heard you twice.
I don't need to really need anymore proof.
Of God Existing.
High, and through me, and above, and in nature, and in all things
Like the flowers I plant
In'stead of weeds
With an honest
And of the kindest way
To be sergeant politeness
Without making me change
I look at the waves
Of the Summer Sea
And end up writing, more poetry.

His clique and click is with a private name
And Irish shame
And the saint
They all adore.
Cursed right through the door
And forev'er blamed
By the people native
And crossed with blood
Of the perfect kind, and sane.
Twisted in my DNA,
The alien versus the freak
Or animal in me
Wants to survive
When I'd kill another demon
Any other day of the week ..

Railgun prophecies,
Turned into coca cola dreams.
People wondering where I am.
For an entire year.
Finding myself again,
In the same place, in your head.
Instead
Not some socio
More omnipathic
And that poetry
I divined
Is all from God
To the illumined ones.
His Celtic code,
His Celtic name.
Forever dead,
Forever in love.
The raven flieth on.
A prince, and saint,
whose always here.
And always gone.