Me We a Poem by Jeremy Matthews

Put the poetry into life and the life into poetry. I've finally found the endless quest. The truth so as to know myself. Lets say a king sat down to a poem of fool. "You don't belong here" said he. Make someday I'll be dead supposition of empty words for the poet's never dead from doubt for I otherwise inspire everything in me, ever onward to spirit in the beyond wherefore let us not shed tears of fools for need fools, kings be some days. O placid white crown catcher of words this thrown sits to you, queried the poem on to him needs be in pen slashed words of the sword of words that make them silence that vibrates eardrum heart rhythm. O so said he, "words can have truth created in sub thought" since thought counts most before you speak so blush the tyrant word wind drumstick upon the heart so much so that a fool not know what a king knows; he is the fool to a conversation between he and himself. O would he wish he had met him in his song. O wish he would have listened when you pulsed your silence dear heart. O wish you'd accost him with your pen sword for then wish an assault on the inarticulate and crush the blushed tyrant happily of complexion for words did furrow the smile at a young age inside the king not knowing his face red in his pounce on the raid of the inarticulate for will rather he learned before what not to do. Speak not out of wit or out of turn for wish he speak in thought between conversation from what's not said but why-fore he could read those thoughts in sub-thought land of nowhere replied he to the poem as the king is all of us of nothingness with the world in his hands, where is the crown? In jest why complicate things more I'm a fool of which the only thing I'm scared of is a question I can't answer. What if you run away from dear heart with a kiss on the cheek you run away. I thought I could protect you but your strong on your own so come what near why so far away. All's full in well and good an imagined question brings an imagined answer giving me something more than myself. Any question any answer, the fools still knocking at his own door. I know fools made best men warriors. Kings reside in grace. The fool knows his place in the world, he's a walking transparent subconscious. An iridescent fool if you will of soul but yet listen to winds of soul to howl far off echoing spirit heart connection questing for answers in imagination where a dream set a heart searching days fast long gone. All's you have to do is dream every day for the heart knows what a dream is as a perceiver of qualities of spirit in imagination bigger than us all.