My Foolishness

Oh death with sweet lies,
Why have thou beseech me?
And remove mine will,
To live out my life?

But oh, what's this?
A scepter to graces me,
And not as drug nein pill,
But one, a possibility as wife,

For only one can love thee,
With mind demented as mine own,
To handle what I offer to thine,
And settle the waves of hurricanes,

For it is she I love,
And she I asketh to be mine own,
To help create a life so fine,
And remove from me miseries chain,

For though he be dear friend,
He has habits to cling on,
And never let thine go,
As a cub to mother bear,

And brings dear friends down,
In a dying mission he goes on,
And though he meaneth well, woe,
My screams he cannot hear,

But it is she that's pulls me up,
From with this sinking hole,
That he tried and drown me of,
Never to be seen out again,

And it is her I thanketh,
For though I were in the hole,
It was her I seeked thereof,
And find a new life regain,

In complication though we have,
Will begat we gain out,
In attempts to make it through,
A feel the newer euphoria of "love",

A longer amount of time,
And greater distance we waits out,
For though I be much as cockatoo,
She be the gentle and extravagant dove,

What some would call "God's messenger",
Or a symbol of peace and holiness,
And loved over by many,
And many she may love in return,

And in mine attempts to seek,
I had far much in acts of "holiness",
And forgot about livening out plenty,
Then out waited mine only turn,

And as mine cockatoo,
I acted out as wild, woe daring,
And though can be loved by some,
Liveth alone, one cannot stand the loud squawkings,

But in her eyes the strange,
Becomes a mission some call daring,
Thou some being scared, she seeks fun,
And giveth out her blessings whole hearting,

And creates a new light to open,
And remove from thine eyes mesh,
The mesh of oh death and sweet lies,
The events of life and living,

Which replaces with a new beauty,
Much more than the bland mesh,
And in so misery and death go forth, die,
And a thank you t'her caregiving's,

But thank you be not enough to offer,
As return for what she hath done,
Because though it be loving, heartfelt,
It doesn't add up in compare,

Because though I love and care,
She is never seemingly done,
And puts me in a dept to be dealt,
Which leaveth me to feel debonair,

With so, she fills my cup,
With so joy and prosperity,
But I am a selfish young fool,
And drinketh the wine much too fast,

And her cup it remains full,
With my share of joy and prosperity,
And her stomach knows when she be full,
And long while her drink shall last