TheCriticofInnocence

It all starts with a quark, just one letter off from quirk With directions, charm and strange, we know slightly how they work. Together, they make protons (and neutrons if you prefer) One’s pretty positive; the other, no charges do occur. Stick them with electrons; an atom’s what you’ll make. (Though, make them really large and they’re liable to break.) With these, the possibilities really do expand Since they’re really much more numerous than all the grains of sand. From molecules that lead to life, to stars far out in space The universe has ways for even the small to find their place.

What is sleep, but a void that stops our movement, lets us take that time to slow down, recover and recuperate? To dream of worlds so close, yet far from our own and wake up either fresh, ready to seize the light of day or with our minds still drained from the day before and stuck between life and death,  for a few moments.

When I get home, I drop my stuff, Mumble a “hi”, or “hello” And speed straight up to see her,again. She’s been the best thing to happen to me. I’ve learned much from her, like how to talk to a girl Or that various cats can be quite hilarious. She always has something new to show Yet knows what I like, too. She won’t judge (except in some cases.) With her, I can find friends, Have the life I want to have so much, Let the pressure only be the next level to beat, And control a world at my fingertips. Her, with her square nails that clack, Has showed me that , really, Reality is quite overrated.

Oh, Christmas, such a beautiful time Cheering up all who are touched by its grace All streets in decorations quite bright and sublime And carols being sung all over the place. Or maybe you're not into that stuff Maybe preferring Nature's nice show Seeing those flakes, for you, is enough And few beat a Christmas covered in snow. Family, too, is nice in this season All in a house, quite warm and so jolly Usually, a party's the reason Or, maybe you're just alone with your Holly. So, remember, if you feel a bit down And need that something to get you some cheer Just open your eyes and look all around There's always something to hel

I wish I could write. Like Poe, who gave a terrible fright, Or Snicket, whose villain was always in sight. Maybe Rowling, whose young boy didn't die, Or Fleming, who created the most famous spy. Oh, how I wish that my skill was akin To those whose great writing they spin Could pull almost any  reader in To worlds where most books are uselessly burned, Or where the One Ring should be forgotten and spurned. But, alas, it has not come to be Since my writing is poor, as you already see- A curse in which I might never break free. And so I dream each day and each night For the day I can write.

When we were innocent, and cute and small And we did not know many things at all Girls dreamt of princes with true love's kiss While boys thought of "cooties" as something to miss. When we grew up, things weren't the same; Love, to most of us, became like a game. Girls still wished for the ideal girl or guy (Though few made their love little more than a lie.) And Guys used their eyes, instead of their head Looking for ladies who like their legs spread. Seeing this all, it might seem that true love Could only be shown from the Big Guy up above. But, all is not lost, for, even today, There are those of us who don't follow that way.

Lovely, luminous locks set apart my love, yet I am Cursed for it, for I must only see her in darkness and None other dame can take my breath but her alone. The lady, the ever-changing silver light of the dark.