Redwall Abbey

An introduction.
Hello, my name is Mischevael.
And I have a tale, of poems please, share in my endeavor.
Wisdom from the soul to have taught her, for the ear that has sought her.
The voice to call her, to pierce the heart of the Redwaller, forever.

A poem to stir the mind.
With symbolism designed, to arouse every thought.
Be objective, for the meaning is destined subjective.
Redwallers, Redwallers, listen as the one hollers yet a whisper is wrought:

I am the path to character from habit.
I am the failed attempts to stab it.
I am the thirst, of your addiction.
Through your resistance, I am its consistence I am the worst.
Of the malediction.
They think all the worlds of having a vice.
Till they pay the price.
The warnings signs are given, they're just too vague.
Not taking me serious, is mysterious yet forbidden.
They should be avoiding me like the plague.
If vice is what you apply your mind.
Then certainly you're flying blind.
So take a chance, sure play with fate.
There's not one talisman, for the malison you'll answer.
So shall I retaliate.
Like fitting a square peg in a hole of round shape.
You're mad if you think you can escape.
The cause, and effect relation.
For every system, there is with them a set of laws.
With penalties for their violation.
You should do what feels right.
Live for the fun in the night.
If imminent destruction, is what you endeavor.
'Cause temptation's great, and he won't wait for instruction.
Man will lean this way forever.

Hear, O hear, and witness the fall.
Redwall, Redwall much is at stake.
In the pursuit of happiness they delve, they were want to keep themselves.
Till that they trust, cannot their lust slake.

Hear, O hear, I give you a riddle.
A man standing in the middle, twixt one surrounded by raven.
Redwallers, Redwallers, the search for wisdom falters.
As reality shall collide, they side with the one whose mind gave in:

One says on this, the other that.
When all but one miss, what it's really at.
I am the infusion, of guesses and confusion.
When the answer stares at you in the face.
I am the mornings, caffeine loaded.
I am the warnings, unheeded but noted.
I am the end of the day, when all shall tatter and fray.
And now you can't get from place to place.
I am what you think, others disserve.
I am the brink, and the raw nerve.
I am the deflection, and the projection.
The complete and utter denial.
I am the seed, that brings forth calamity.
When he thinks he has a good bead, on reality.
I am the failure cursed, when you don't get it at first.
I am the repetition of that trial.
I am the mountain to bury you, the molehill unbound.
Let me carry you, not the other way around.
I am what you should know, and how to let things go.
To have peace of mind.
I am the mind caught, in anxiety.
Where your every thought, will not go quietly.
One more thing, the only baggage you can bring.
Is all that you can't leave behind.

Redwallers, Redwallers see with your eyes.
Let not your prejudice arise, but seek to understand.
Hear with your ears, and quiet your wrath and your fears.
Lest turn your hopes, into ropes of sand:

I am the great hypocrisy.
When you're quite possibly.
On the same, winding road.
You know not the course, nor the force of the game.
Nor your heavy load.
It ill behooves you to disappoint me when.
Seeing at every turn you prove my point, once again;
It's all academic, save for the demonstration you display.
I am fate and the lonely, I am the melancholy epidemic.
The only way to defeat me is do not play.
See a great perversion?
Filled with disgust and aversion?
Filled with secret vice, you're not far from it.
The temptation, of this generation is more to suffice.
For it is great when accustomed to succumb to it.
Think you will never attain such depth?
The descent is most gradual upon its breadth.
You'll grow bold, to brave the mishap.
When the distance, of resistance twixt act and threshold.
Is short enough to bridge the gap.
Not long will time bear on.
Turn back before you're too far gone.
If you don't learn, now to sever.
And continue, to pursue passion when it shall burn.
You shall lean this way forever.

Redwallers, Redwallers peace I declare.
When and where, you come to your senses.
Unless you mark this, light becomes darkness.
And your city is exposed, for those who tear down your defenses.

Redwall, Redwall.
Enjoy your fall, the Autumn of faithful friends.
Till enter, the winter.
When your smiles, have trials without end.
So shall it testify.
To rectify, and improve character progression.
Of what does a friend make, amid affliction and the will to break.
When the winds of reason blow astern, and you learn a hard lesson.

The parallel of Mischevael and winter.
I am the hopelessness.
That births the lacking thereof.
I am the crookedness.
Of the naked trees above.
I am the chill in the wind.
That rustles the dead leaves.
I am the moon's halo in the clouds without end.
I am the cold trials that keeps him who believes.
I am the lengthening of the shadow.
The extending of the night.
I am the blindness of the snow.
I am the monochromatic scene at hand.
I am the nothingness that seems to expand.
The emptiness of the sight.
Of the winter wonderland.
I am the melancholy of the season.
And the malady to unfold.
Done wholly with reason.
Done irrespective of the gravity of the cold.
I am the loneliness of the daffodil.
And the contrast it seems to make.
Even so, I am the nipping of the chill.
Yet lo, it is the sign it will all soon break.

Redwallers, Redwallers dark, are the recessess of the imagination.
For the will of man begins with a spark, and is a world of conflagration.
With a great taxation, there must be great self examination.
To get to what is true.
Past the deflection, anger, and fear.
Past their projection, till the picture becomes clear.
One more thing not to miss, gaze long into the abyss.
It will gaze into you.

The darchives.
There is a place.
Hidden well in the mind.
One we embrace.
To leave the world behind.
To keep that which is dark.
As secrecy is vital.
Where each point of interest left its mark.
To flaunt every idol.
When there is nothing to do.
So to recede in relaxation.
Or safety from what pursues you.
And bleed in vexation.
Where another's trust must far excel.
The limits of normality.
To see a portion of where they dwell.
To experience your altered reality.
A place for your journal.
An internal book of remembrances.
To relive your journey in full.
A place guarded by all your defenses.
Where your inner self has slumbered.
Where trusts are kept.
And your life is numbered.
And their pieces swept.
Where dreams are born.
And memories kept alive.
Yet there to forlorn.
As the worst is allowed to thrive.

Redwallers, Redwallers, I am the hatred of the flame.
I am the game, it plays ever so well.
It destroys as it devours, so likewise their mental powers.
Their anger, envy, and passion, in the fashion of the fires of hell.
I am the map of riddles, the winding course.
I am the blinding force, to overthrow you along the way.
I am fate and the lonely, I am the melancholy.
Better you not meet me, the only way to defeat me is do not play.

Playing with Mischevael.
Lay in my feathered bed.
To tickle your darkest fears.
Or share a glass of wine instead.
To pickle yourself in tears.
Talk with me.
To reveal your innermost secrets.
Walk with me.
To remember your ghost and what he forgets.
Take my looking glass.
I am the abyss that gazes into you.
Let's fish for bass.
I'll bait this hook with what amazes you.
Take this present.
I am that which gives you away.
Take this hint.
I am the riddle that lives to lead you astray.
Have my lucky dreidel.
I'll spin your hopes with what you don't understand.
Let's play cat's cradle.
I'll turn your confidence into ropes of sand.
Share my fame.
I am the fool's attention in order to estrange.
Share my board game.
Rule number 1: The rules ever change.

Riddles of the bay mouse.

Redwallers, Redwallers, I give you a warning.
Neglect to your mourning, and so it shall be against you.
There are penalties for trampling wisdom, as with any system.
Her curse, gets worse until she has convinced you:

Riddle #1.
What goes, also comes around.
The time no one knows, till it be found.
A blessing at first, till revealed cursed.
Thing there to stay.
The path, the parents trod.
Has vengeful wrath, that learns to maraud.
I am fate and the lonely, I am the melancholy.
The only way to defeat me is do not play.
With each footstep, they take.
They may have wept, but is easier for others to make.
They both instill, into shoes to fill.
Truly, an offer they can't refuse.
What was your obstacle, is now their tendency.
Fate is not fickle, when they see a greater density.
When they procreate, they chance fate.
A game they could easily loose.
I ofttimes administer, to one.
A dose sinister, to teach a lesson.
If they forget it, they will come to regret it.
And it burst upon them again like a flood.
Clean yourself up, and there be a chance to avoid it.
Drink from my cup, and you've destroyed it.
No return or exchange, for life's burns that estrange.
Or that given by blood.

Redwallers, Redwallers, you get drawn away by your lust.
And begin to trust, the thoughts in your mind.
Till your love has defaulted, as self is exalted.
Keep others before you, so the more you will leave it all behind:

Riddle #2
I am the wanting of another's.
That can separate very lovers.
I am the character, as it is forming.
I am the change as you are unaware of her.
Take this riddle as warning.
It is as green as emerald forests.
Regret and resentments are what it consists.
Quoth, the raven.
'You shall loathe.
To what the mind gave in.'
Over and again shall it occupy the thoughts.
Till everything else in the mind rots.
Till you're hell bent, on taking vengeance.
Even if you do not relent.
To any objective it becomes a hindrance.
Examine the motives of the heart.
The hidden feelings that play their part.
And weed it, out of the mind.
Before you begin to think you need it.
And become perpetually blind.
Best leave it alone.
And gather for your own.
The end of this, should bring you pause.
For it shall be lonely and friendless.
I am the effects from the cause.

Redwallers, Redwallers, keep to what is true.
Lest pursue, a sound in the mists.
And so shall you not discern, each footstep and turn.
The lesson to reveal, is nothing unreal exists:

Riddle #3.
I am the squandering, of substance.
When they're wandering, amid it presence.
That exists only in immanence, and influence.
I am the door to the realm of unreality.
Study the genuine, to identify it.
Lest when it shall begin, you can't deny it.
It has no use, yet given excuse.
And made a formality.
It has a blinding, infatuating spell.
To where finding yourself, is like a needle in hell.
It is a false conviction, it is as an addiction.
Hard to curb.
Like a wraith, from nothing shall it conceive.
Where it takes great faith, just to believe.
Despite the kind of evidence, of its quasi-existence.
It is but one more idol to serve.
It may prove, above that of relativity.
Yet this is how they move, into this stupidity.
Beware the consumption, of the counterfeit presumption.
For you get no points for intermittent display.
Do not come near, and never compromise.
The winds of reason shall veer, pulling the wool over your eyes.
Not even to mock, for even a broken clock.
Gets the chance to be right twice a day.

Redwall, Redwall.
Take care lest you fall, by wrong habits unto character.
It is insisted, that Nature is assisted.
In her efforts, though it hurts but she works as you're unaware of her:

Riddle #4.
He rationalizes himself into acceptance.
He compromises himself into submittance.
With all his deflection, he can't see his reflection.
I am his fear of that thing to address.
Full of broken dreams woken by the daylight.
Whose echoes sends screams deep into the night.
Whose broken promises left behind, do not calm his mind.
I am his circle with no egress.
He built his castle, on a sandy shore.
Thinks he's guiltless, loosed in a candy store.
He meets correction with deflection and projection.
I am the realm of his denial.
His will power is, a false assumption.
He is powerless, towards his consumption.
He stands derailed, his many attempts failed.
I am the repetition of his trial.
He pushes away those close to him.
There's not one day it doesn't ghost him.
He is empty inside, where he loves to hide.
I am his running child.
It shall bloom, into a cold hard reality.
That shall consume, his rationality.
He's coming apart at the seams, taking it to extremes.
I am it running wild.

Redwallers, Redwallers it is your inward selves.
Into perdition man delves, when it is neglected thence.
It aids in right decision making, amid life's undertakings.
Lest, with each failed test you sear your conscience:

Riddle #5.
It'll show you, the way.
I'll know if you, want to move or stay.
Wisdom increases, as you follow its lead.
You'll be left with me if it ever ceases.
And turn into night what once was day.
Where it is futile to proceed.
Walk while there is light, on your path.
For the night, has terrible wrath.
The rose, will guide you.
See without seeing and do not suppose.
Do the math.
It is the man inside you.
Only those asking, will understand.
And will not be grasping, ropes of sand.
Only the heart sincere, will it not leave behind.
Only with ears tuned and eyes clear.
With a steady hand.
And a balanced mind.
If you're led, by the two that live together.
That apart are dead, be it one or the other.
You shall not fear, presumption's noose.
Beware however, lest it appear.
A genuine raison d'etre
Only to be chasing a wild goose.

Redwallers, Redwallers it isn't easy to see.
The malignancy, of life's pitfalls.
Lest they are discerned, lest they are learned.
You'll be led to where you are driven, for you can't see the prison from the walls:

Riddle #6.
That which wisdom would have you release.
Lest the inward person's sufferings increase.
And it weighs, as much as an anchor.
Worn about the neck, to make shipwreck of days.
A ship in a bottle that looks as big as a tanker.
It distorts like a prism.
It steals your rhythm.
It is a parlor trick, of sleight of hand.
It uses mirrors, to project fears that come on thick.
Of what you can't fully understand.
It keeps you busy.
In circles going dizzy.
Blends beginning with end, so you can't abort her.
It wounds the future, with sores no suture can mend.
It is chaos amid order.
It eats like a cancer.
That obscures the answer.
It feasts on the silo, of regret you store.
It is built, upon the guilt you try to bury although.
You cover it with a whole lot more.
Better to be objective.
For the answer is subjective.
Careful lest you self flatter, or want the attention.
Be true, or have it fool you beware of the latter.
And so have the wrong intention.
I am fate and the lonely, I am the melancholy.
When they begin to think it is but only too slowly.
For the cruelest prison, is the one we build for ourselves.
Out of fear and regret, set to be the hardest arisen.
Which man too often delves.

Redwall, Redwall beware of pride's brine.
Bitter as quinine, and selfishness be that which it imparts.
And serve to get even, this is what it believes in.
Ever have others before you, even if they abhor you to keep love in your hearts.
This is the time and the season.
But many guilty of treason, to the spirit.
At the holiday's expense, and sear the conscience.
For that which would constrain them, pains them to hear it:

Mischevael and the holiday seasons.
I am the hypocrisy, of the holidays.
As always, the insincerity of thanksgiving.
The gluttony of food lovers, the rejection of others.
They know not what makes good living.
I am their selfishness and their pride.
The evidence love died, wherewith shall it be revived.
It is transitory, and vainglory.
If self feels well leaving others deprived.
I am the pretense, of being overjoyed.
While the rest are decoyed, I am not sold.
It's better a morsel of bread alone, than with feelings hid but known.
I am the troubles put on hold.
I am the New Year's resolution.
To become absolution, to absolve you of the thing.
I am the passing of time, that has wills sublime.
I am the effects the disappointments bring.
I am the season come, and the season go.
I am the show, they put on for the moment.
I am sound witness, to your year round display of this.
As you think the season will make atonement.
I am truth, that brings grief.
I am your disbelief, at all this.
I am your deflection, and your projection.
For there is nothing that I miss.

Redwall, Redwall join me in Sky Island.
A way to escape the highland, of life's trails.
To leave yourself behind, contrary to the mind.
The equation, for your vacation from what travails.
A place where nothing and everything makes sense.
Needing no defense, it triumphs over all.
Where you gain when the loss is due, at no cost to you.
The best place to visit, the requisite for the insane dear Redwall:

Sky Island.
Psychosis, neurosis, or manic depression?
Hallucination, manifestation,
Or post hypnotic suggestion?
Loneliness, catharsis, or event horizon?
To force the concealed to become revealed,
Renders damage.
Then shall the stranger be in danger,
Of speculative knowledge.
Mores the pity having facts undone by theory,
Creating what society relies on.
The feeling of a lost piece or a looming void.
Or tossed with the feeling of a certain doom deployed.
Nagging like the next obtrusive persuasion.
When the principle is equal to being envious,
For those beneath you of baser value.
By reason of things not virtuous.
While vexed by an illusive illusion.
With the hesitation comes frustration,
And harder be the wait.
And memory lane is remembered in vain,
Knowing not the troubles it will create.
While the duration deprived of time shall pursue you.
Walking face forward to a place toward,
Your destination only to digress.
With every lap you walk off the map,
In a maze without an egress.
A vacation prescribed by Dr. Hoodoo.
For wounds no one can suture.
As death inherits no future.
For the grave is silent evermore.
Forget about the twain.
It will drive you insane.
Teach you things you never knew before.
Sky Island.

Sky Island revisited.
Event horizon, inside the mind.
Left restraint behind, to drag others into the briar.
Con artist or catharsis.
Psychological, or pathological liar?
Feel the punishment, never committing the sin.
Kept deep within, at such a devastating cost.
Erupts into madness, for you can't address the abyss.
With no atonement, to think that moment lost.
A great example of, cause and effect.
Left to neglect, a hard lesson they will learn.
All entices, left to his devices.
Beware the unknown, for the winds of reason have blown astern.
Take back the land, taken by fools.
Break the rules, break forth a raging flood.
Stand in the mirror with clenched fist, you'll be called terrorist.
The sacred tree, of liberty refreshed by blood.
A world full, of his malison.
As Alice in, Wonderland cursed.
An evil talisman, for the calloused man.
Dr. Hoodoo with his voodoo at its worst.
A rose whose thorns, are wicked mesquite.
Trick or treat, where the petals are all blight.
Even the smell, is the brimstone of hell.
Where it sends you, screaming into the night.

Sky Island forever.
A functional, psychosis?
Or neurosis, to abort her.
Leave it all behind, to purge the mind.
Strangely effective, or schizoaffective disorder?
Tintinnabulation, or crisis?
Tinnitus, of contusion.
A purging story, of eternal purgatory.
Of wedding vows, to fill the bowels of confusion.
A violent, mind spell?
Or blind hell, for you trespassed onto your plight.
In the realm of Dr. Hoodoo, with his voodoo.
That does tend to, send you screaming into the night.
Life, a blind game of chess.
Where you guess, which piece to wield.
It's just a roll of the dice, to capture and sacrifice.
But will it intrigue, when they blitzkrieg the field?
Your future's, decision.
A vision, or hallucination?
The present depending, upon your will bending.
But now, will you bow to your temptation?
It is most, pleasurable.
Yet with immeasurable, lengths to crave.
You squander the powers given, to move all hell and heaven.
Yet find time, to climb into the grave.

Redwall, Redwall I am the violent carousel.
The whirlwind of hell, the vortex to bind.
I am the immanence, and the consequence.
I am the malison, without talisman to the cortex of the mind:

The shadow of depression.
Think you've lost all hope, in dark despair?
You don't care, what any have to say.
Lost all faith, to fade as a wraith.
In the night, to spare the light of day.
Not a friend in sight, you're all alone.
The unknown, fills the void with sure doom.
For its lot, is dead hearts cannot.
Rise above, the portals of the tomb.
There's a glimmer like, the morning dawn.
Then it's gone, as quickly as a flash.
Then the veil, has a darker spell.
Where your hopes, turn into ropes of ash.
You tried everything, to no avail.
And you fail, at every single turn.
A hard quiz, for what it all is.
No question, its a lesson you'll learn.
Everything's the same, as was before.
So therefore, contemplate suicide.
You give in, there's no way to win.
Leave behind, all that your mind has tried.
Time serves to fester, and will avenge.
Its revenge, sweeps you through like a flood.
On the course, overthrown with force.
Seek advice, lest pay the price with blood.

Redwall, Redwall I am the smoke to fire.
The ire, of this generation.
The anxiety, unto satiety.
The havoc wreaking, when seeking consolation.

Redwall, Redwall countless many have fallen.
Walled in, by their own devices.
Having a measure, of pleasure.
Yet the results, are the insults of the vices:

Mischevael's judgment on vice.
You turn, turn, and turn again.
A lesson you shan't learn again, for once is too painful.
A friend is life's essential component, as chess is to an opponent.
The immanence, is not without consequence and is most disdainful.
Vice, a wonderful medicine.
Only to jettison, the problem at the system's fate.
A blunder move, with no wondrous reprove.
To make shipwreck, discover check and ultimately mate.
I am the path from habit to character.
Never are they aware of her, she assumes many forms.
As she plays her part, she steals your heart.
As she does behave, she turns your bed into a grave of briars and thorns.
Turn your joy into heaviness.
And readiness, from a lax season.
Eat the bitter and drink the plain, learn that suffering shall sustain.
This take care to be, lest go contrary to the dictates of reason.
I am not arrow nor target but trajectory.
I am the cause and effect you don't readily see, till it is too late.
They say where is the wrong, but time won't bear long.
Tis how they make, this fatal mistake as you fill your plate.
Why do they ask if it could rather than should.
Oh if they would, but hear and understand.
The snare is laid, when conscience is betrayed.
Where your hopes of escape, are ropes of sand.
With each link the chain is forged.
As you gorged, upon lustful practices.
You danced the tune, and chanced the ruin.
It is a bitter end, your friend is now your nemesis.

Redwall, Redwall let it not remain bottled.
As it is coddled, it will mature into devastation.
Pressure builds, until the surface yields.
Let problems be settled, not meddled with to no end of situation.
Even when they are gone.
You can still press on, victory at a glance.
Yet if death is no excuse, then how much more use;
Is not dealing with the living, giving you an only chance:

Dealing with unfinished business.
You can suffer with them.
Short of wisdom, letting the dead rule.
Better to have confessed, and to lay them to rest.
Yet they daunt you, and haunt the fool.
The truth must come forward.
Lest lean toward, endless rationalization.
Where deflection, is your protection.
Like prison walls, as self falls to isolation.
It's a 'behind the scenes' riddle.
That plays second fiddle, only you dare not see the answer.
Resulting in each problem, only thinking to have solved them.
Yet denying, the underlying as it eats you as a cancer.
Do it to close the chapter of the relationship.
To avoid the rationalization trip, ending it upon a good note.
One more thing, the only baggage you can bring.
Is all you can't leave behind, for how much can the mind tote?
You did it for yourself alone.
Lest they are sown, inside your head.
They know not anything, do not take upon their sting.
The gravestone cheers, the living dear they're no use to the dead.
What better way to show the light of something.
Than to bring, to light the dark alternatives that thrive.
Choose you this day, which is the better way?
It begins with one word spoken, or ever be broken buried with them alive.

Redwall, Redwall I tell you verily.
Life will be easier if you're aware of me.
Those who hear what I say, will understand me more.
If you are to keep your turn, from becoming lesson to learn I pray.
You do not what I stand for:

Mischevael's theory of friendship.
I am the desperation, when one is lonely.
I am its exasperation, the barrier the one and only.
I am the wrong way to go about it, I am when you doubt it.
Will there be a final connection?
I am the conceit, to alienate you.
I am the defeat, when they finally hate you.
I am self preoccupation, when you have a spirit of self saturation.
I am the self insurrection.
I am the thought and its inaction, when you want to.
I am the reaction, when mere restraint won't do.
I am the neglect of the four C's, the undisciplined tendencies.
I am the walking together without agreeing.
I am the refusal to come together, in unity and reason.
I am whether, you can endure in and out of due season.
I am heated moments, that ego foments.
I am the bigger picture one isn't seeing.
I am the forgoing of many, when self is forgotten.
But can there be any, when animosity is begotten.
Know your flaws in and out, I am the cause you bring about.
Lest at any time you'll find you've destroyed it.
I am the saving of face, rather than the bond at all cost.
I am the rejection from your space, and the friendship lost.
Careful lest we, meet this destiny.
On the road we took to avoid it.

Redwall, Redwall will you be so cold?
As to forget the sufferings of those you behold?
And have it consume you, into a void and a shell.
Till even the lightest thought, of the slightest compassion doom you.
And the warmth of your love be the fire of hell:

Mischevael's theory of the Golden Rule.
When you see one wants what is yours.
Remember, even dogs lick sores.
Do what you can to alleviate, his every need.
As yours has been met, don't forget your brother's plate.
Lest be overcharged with greed.
As you have received.
Do not become self deceived.
In thinking, every man pulls himself up by his bootstraps.
For when you don't lend a hand, for man sinking.
You'll lay for yourself decisive traps.
If your life is a constant struggle.
And it is hard to keep yours in the juggle.
Remember, as iron sharpens iron, man sharpens man.
When you lend a hand, you'll understand the lesson to learn.
When you do all that you can.
Is it safe to want and not do?
To thine own self be true.
It'll take a fraction of self, to rise to mobility.
Get energetic, turn your yearning kinetic take action.
For the one thing people don't want is pity.
If you don't learn the Golden Rule.
You will be counted as the fool.
If you don't think you would, by your own you shall be caught.
You will not, be treated as you thought you should.
For so you likewise didn't as you ought.

Redwall, Redwall nothing lasts forever.
All is as we would have it till circumstance should sever.
Enjoy the time, you have with you.
For the opportunities, you could've seized will sublime.
If you don't learn now to make do:

Mischevael and separation.
I am the loss felt.
When life has dealt, sorely with such.
I am walls torn down, and composure worn down.
I am catharsis, and the heart of this when it hurts that much.
I am the pain.
When you can no longer sustain, and life has consumed you.
When you are broken, and you scream with no words spoken.
I am shadows compassing, and amassing when life has pruned you.
I am the leaves of autumn before winter.
Feeling the depression enter, with the season's blight.
Struggling to hang on, when all hope is gone.
And comes the end, when they relinquish to the wind in the night.
I am the summer grass.
That pass away, I am the season come and the season go.
I am your reflection, of your complexion.
When they been with you a long while, through precious and vile and no reason go.
I am the feeling betrayed.
And dismayed, at the sudden vexation.
I am fate and the lonely, I am the melancholy.
When you're touched by the shadows, from the gallows of separation.
To feel the loss of family or friend.
Is to share the loss of petals as the rose weeps for the end, only to wait another day.
When all is forgotten, and new buds begotten.
The petals remembered no more as life is forgiven, when the wind has driven them away.

You have been generous with your praise.
And I thank you always.
For you are they created, for I am nought without my hearers' due.
There are smiles to come, when all the while one is appreciated.
And I hope to return some to you.
************Mischevael************

Redwall, Redwall if a man thinks he stand.
Let him take heed lest he fall is reprimand, against you.
To turn your hopes, into ropes of sand.
If it has not yet convinced you:

Mischevael's rule of infatuation.
Your mind wanders in the realm of unreality.
Where your choices lack principle responsibility.
Building judgments upon these, till it vex you undone.
Where it takes the helm, in the realm of the dancing palm trees.
Beckoning the vortex come.
You'll lose the feel for restraint.
Right doing only accompanies complaint.
It may not reduce to idiocy, but it does make one a fool.
It's pure rationalization, for self gratification in secrecy.
And to make an exception to this rule.
It weakens every intellectual power.
Temptation gains the mastery with effectual power.
Either generally or in regard, to particular objects.
A bewitching spell, from the fires of hell to break is very hard.
Against his judgments and dictates of reason he falls in all respects.
Acts without common discretion or prudence.
Is self deceived operating on base and crude sense.
Where the higher functionality, gives way to animal passions.
Too obstinate to be controlled by reason, and sold rationality.
Under many guises and fashions.
It begins with all subtlety.
Till it blossoms in futility.
Lust, covetousness, and pride, all lead to this situation.
Lest you repeat history, gain the victory only when self has died.
For all who waste substance in vice are chargeable with infatuation.

Redwall, Redwall cave ne cadas.
Take the lesson from whom taught this, for I know what I say.
I write from experience, at no consequence to whomever ought this.
Very lesson portray:

Mischevael and the lonely.
Is it a light matter?
To let life tatter and fray, having not one friend?
To think to survive, by striving alone is to self flatter.
There will be none to see you through to the end.
For no man is a rock.
The clock ticks, to the lessons at hand.
Before these should occur, seize the opportunity when she shall knock.
Lest find all you were was shifting sand.
And no man is an island.
The reality will send you, screaming into the night.
Lest unknowingly, be as the tumbleweed blowing in the wind.
Dead amid its flight.
I am its protracted session.
I am the depression, you can't admit you see.
I am what it takes, when one breaks under repression.
Loneliness is all it's cracked up to be.
If you don't make any efforts.
You'll die without comforts, just as well.
I am lessons taught, do not tell me truth hurts.
Because it hurts like hell.
Do not live life alone.
As a single flower is shown, yet there's none to adore.
When the end of its days come, and all it arrays is unknown.
It shall fade and be remembered no more.

Redwall, Redwall I oft give another chance to play the game.
In a first loss there is no shame, just so the opportunity again comes alongside.
If you can't make do, with the time before you how am I to blame?
How many windows must I provide?:

Mischevael and the moment.
When fate has cast.
A ray of sunshine from the past, a love once begotten.
A second rendition, for lo redemption at last.
Or remain a love forgotten.
Say you your ready for the moment.
Let me tell you how it can foment, a great failure despite.
It will entail, the failure as having no atonement.
And become two ships that pass in the night.
Con permisso mon ami the opportunity's presented.
The hall is rented, the orchestra engaged.
It's now time to see if you can dance, perchance how time is spent or bid.
Or have its revenge enraged.
I am the opportunities wasted.
Moments hasted, having advantages sublime.
I am the banquet, you have to thank for it yet never tasted.
Forgoing the time.
I am memories faded into oblivion.
I am privy, in every happenstance.
I am the cost, the love lost upon Vivienne.
To a baleful consequence.
It has long suffered.
There was enough heard, to keep it from dying.
Now there's too much, for any such thing to have buffered.
Despite any further trying.
You slighted every chance.
Your stance taken, is enough to make one sober.
You've destroyed it, a void now fills the expanse.
And now it's over.

Redwall, Redwall you're standing on the brink.
And lest it pass you in a wink, take it for how long will you wait?
Time in its order, is much shorter than you think.
And then it's too late:

Mischevael's theory of timekeeping.
Enjoy your age.
This stage, going through it.
Do not wall yourself in, with all the burdens to be a bird in a cage.
Lest life is full of woe and rue it.
Time is not to be trifled with.
Fulfillment to the hundredth fold, to those who respect her.
But her avenging, and challenging are not myth.
And a sad retrospection awaits those who neglect her.
Time is a precious thing do not waste it.
Once you've embraced it, do not let yourself sever.
Lest be forlorn, and mourn the past fearful of the future as you've faced it.
And lean this way forever.
You're staring at the banquet table.
Yet you seem unable, never seizing the opportunity when it presents.
You should take it by storm, yet only seeing its form and label.
Never experiencing the substance.
Do not worry about the future.
For the present will putrefy, into the past.
Each spoon of worry, is a wound without suture.
With an ounce of apprehension cast.
With all your worry and deliberation.
You neglect time and her condemnation, will soon spawn.
Fate shall assail, if you fail in your efforts for I am the consolation.
When it is forever gone.

Redwall, Redwall fear is the only enemy.
Do not let it imprison thee, face it head on.
For it's here for a moment, to foment more only when you have arisen from the.
Clenching vise then shall it soon be over and gone:

Mischevael's theory on fear's process.
You feel the urge yet fear puts on its squeeze.
You try to seize, the opportunity with fervent momentum.
Being strong, is what you long for in the realm of the dancing palm trees.
Beckoning the vortex come.
The first step has you paralyzed.
Your fears rationalized, unto strange ideations.
You try to imagine, courage from within but knowing has it compromised.
Unto deranged complications.
A second step and now you're exposed.
You supposed, that it wouldn't take much.
Every ounce of will, counts as it is tested and deposed.
Under such.
The search for courage is enough to make one sober.
But doubt and fear drove her, to cash in full.
You grow weary, so you near the thought it will soon be over.
So you become rational.
You step again against the force.
Now the fear has run its course, courage comes at last.
As fear has well forbidden it, you tap into the hidden source.
Making each step into the past.
You're now fixed upon the prize.
Your eyes, are no longer looking down for fear to stun.
You quicken your pace, to the end of the race to your surprise.
To your amazement you look back on what you've done.

Redwall, Redwall bear no delusion.
There should be no exclusion, to my words lest the newly found position.
That has him, in his chasm till he come to full disillusion.
Teach a hard lesson in his callow youth the results bound to his decision:

Mischevael's principle of that thing.
That you wouldn't, that you do.
That you pursue, that you would and are caught.
That you think is better, is your fetter that does so woo you.
That you desire is what you will but would that you not.
That you crave.
Is that which drave, your will to bend despite.
That will end, my friend in an early grave.
Or at least send you screaming into the night.
That in the mind.
That is so well designed, that the will is so captivated.
That breaking, would be a great undertaking that you'd find.
That you've been checkmated.
That you would not do.
That you plot to, yet you contemplate on how to sever.
Yet that you fail, and the guilt to assail has long sought you.
And you lean this way forever.
That you think you have no control, beware.
Lest that which you dare, will not take long.
Until that is compromised, and rationalized unto idealized despair.
Reasoning that it does you no wrong.
That darling thing you must protect.
Not knowing that life will be shipwrecked, by your fun.
Or that the cause, of violated laws will bear the effect.
Till reality sets upon you and you see what you've done.

Redwall, Redwall I am the path from habit to character the chasm to span.
If you ran, into me you'd have to break my binding spell.
By having Nature assisted in her efforts, don't tell me truth hurts little man.
Because it hurts like hell:

Mischevael and the path to recovery.
Says the mouse, of bay color:
"Would you discover, your own plight.
Will you give more, only to live for:
Waking dreams, and screams into the night.
I am that, at which they tilt.
I am guilt, from their discovery.
I am their challenge, and yet its revenge.
I am their load, and the road to recovery.
As everything is cast, into a cocked hat.
I am that, which creates it.
Ascertain the cause, of violated natural laws.
And quell, what you can tell exasperates it.
You know, it won't kill you.
So will you, try and see?
They must not forsake it, and in order to make it:
Do not be shy, and you must get by me.
I am the rebelling against nature.
Till it shall mature, into degradation.
She is to be assisted, but is resisted.
And man is hurled, into a world of conflagration.
I am the wisdom, of man.
That can, have you its slave.
To become self repeating, and self defeating.
Till nature's dissenter, shall enter the grave."

Redwall, Redwall the years are before you.
The more you, enjoy what needs be the better the laughter.
Lest a void whose expanse, will perchance consume to the very core in lieu.
And this be your epitaph forever:

Mischevael and the life wasted.
I am the gateway to the realm of unreality.
I am when it changes your personality.
I am the bending knees, in the confusion knowing not wherefrom.
I am when it shall overwhelm, in the realm of the dancing palm trees.
Beckoning the vortex come.
I am character sold in lieu.
When you allow them to mold you.
I am the black hole, inside your mind.
I am the alter of the dark star, of the faltering black soul.
The heart of stone fate has designed.
I am all what your spirit did.
In one who is too free spirited.
How far can you go, before the silver cord shall loose?
When all that you achieved, has you grieved for you did not know.
Your life was a wild goose.
I am when your depression tries this.
In your midlife crisis.
Seeing you didn't take the path, to walk in it.
Take care, lest life is turned into idealized despair full of wrath.
As the pieces don't seem to fit.
Gazing long into the abyss without a clue.
I am when the abyss gazes into you.
You thought you did all you can, but in retrospect you just can't tell.
Failing in your efforts, don't tell me truth hurts little man.
Because it hurts like hell.

Redwall, Redwall.
Take care lest you fall, you think you have but time is much shorter.
To do as you please, in the realm of the dancing palm trees beckoning the vortex call.
If you should fail to put things in order.
For you may have lofty goals.
Which not many souls, have attained.
In lieu, of undergoing the true undertaking their life is now full of holes.
For the real things of life were never ascertained:

Mischevael's principle of the best of times.
Those who feel they need to be the best.
Do not know inner peace instead wrest.
Pride and ambition, will be them.
They can't see the hindrance, of intemperance and selfish position.
They don't know how to properly carpe diem.
They do not let growth come naturally.
They may grow but not fully.
They rush through life, pushing all out of the way.
Full of take and little give, inviting the negative and strife.
Leaving the presumptuous positive to have sway.
It is good to grow.
But I'll have you know.
If you don't take your time, or know when to stop.
To form relations things that matter, the real situations as you climb.
It will be lonely at the top.
There's not much time left in this world.
Only now matters in the life we're hurled.
Let it be fresh in the mind, seize the moment.
Lest when life around you, has wound down to an end you find.
It has passed you by with no atonement.
They turn the present into sorrow.
Having their heads into the morrow.
They will succumb, to the cost.
When with all they could, if any good should come.
They'll think that moment lost.

Redwall, Redwall will you listen to reason?
This, my contribution to the season, as you're guilty of time.
Waste away the moment, only to foment treason.
As I drink my seasonal wine:

Mischevael and the Autumn of Life.
Make a pot of tea.
To get caught in the very season.
Reminisce, but not miss as time is brought from the lee.
For sentimental reason.
Making use of being alone.
Sit and listen to the wind moan through the window's leeway.
As one believes, he is as the leaves as he is prone.
To succumb to the wind and blow away.
I am when one is unaware.
That his share of time is close to forfeit.
For he does not realize, he has compromised it unto despair.
When he does not make better use of it.
Like the leaves you could be at your best.
But they only contest for your wasting of time afore.
Then enter, the winter when they're laid to rest.
And remembered no more.
Let your beauty be displayed.
As Mother Nature is arrayed in a colorful birth.
Have selfless love caress, to leave a loving impress of a lasting shade.
Before you go down into the earth.
I am fate and the lonely.
I am the melancholy the end of destiny.
The one thing you can give, is how you live your life only.
And to get the best of me.

Redwall, Redwall you follow the seasons as the wind blows.
As time is in the throes, of days of future past when it shall dawn.
Letting the moment have sway, as your Labor day comes and goes.
Will the memories be consolation when the thrill is forever gone:

Mischevael's theory of farewell.
This is ludicrous.
To kiss, each other good-bye.
Lengthy farewells, forbid happy trails so to ever miss.
To see each other again may not be true but it's a good lie.
Our time together was like Wonderland.
We must understand, we may never have another chance.
So to turn our hopes, into ropes of sand.
Lest fate permits perchance.
We are as the leaves of autumn at a new phase to enter.
As the winter blight, is at the door.
A new day shall dawn, when they're all gone covered ever so gentler.
By the snow to be remembered no more.
There shall be time to mourn.
And be forlorn, as the lonely winter nights shall bring.
Where the future, holds wounds with the suture torn.
Till comes the spring.
Where old memories forgotten.
With the experience taught within, has new grounds a laying.
It is true, we shall fade as new life is begotten.
Born of the leaves decaying.
But now let's not have it foment.
Tears with no atonement, so to never forgive the morrow.
Oh would, that we could sustain this moment.
Yet parting is such sweet sorrow.

Redwall, oh Redwall, I see you stand again.
I hope you can understand me then, with better allure.
Only with the help of time, will the lonely hope to find.
Themselves to be forgotten no more:

Down the proverbial rabbit hole.
When your own world shall fool you.
When others lull you, into what they think should pass.
Needs and wants in your face, a classic case of push me pull you.
When either way you're thrown through the looking glass.
When time seems to well avenge things.
When the springs, loose in the clock decree.
The insurrection of mind does foment, then the moment brings.
Beware the Jabberwocky.
You gaze long into the abyss.
As things ludicrous, seem the status quo as never before.
Despair in confusion, as you bear the illusion lost amid all this.
As it gazes in you as if to be remembered no more.
All you've done was lend a hand.
Yet there's no one to understand, to grasp what you've clearly shown.
Turning hopes, into ropes of sand.
Leaving you to face your demons alone.
Your will though strong is locked in a tower.
When the power, over you is effectual.
When facing it your opposing will, in closing will cower.
When the cry for help is subtextual.
Follow the rabbit he'll show you many things yet.
But there's no telling how deep it'll get, as you enter within his hole.
Through the catacomb, where all once known now lie in oubliettes.
To take back what the dissenter stole.

Redwall, my Redwall a place of solace.
Where even all this, is only a stitch in the making.
Let us not desert you ever again, to leave you an empty lot, barren.
With all you have wrought within, to be forgotten amid time's undertaking:

Mischevael and the tale of time.
I am the rundown, weather-beaten ramshackle.
That was tackled, by years of neglect altogether.
Oh the stories, and memories as a glorious tabernacle.
Now forgotten forever.
I am the field.
Where they decided to build it, with a beautiful garden.
Once every flower, now thorns and thistles tower to its yield.
Never to bring forth its ardent beauty again.
I am the remnants of the scarecrow.
Once happy to know, he is set guard over beauty.
Once chased love away, now they're here to play to show.
He'll never again perform his cherished duty.
I am its lonely road.
The only road, bordered by a rustic, wooden fence.
Lined with trees, with leaves in the breeze in lonely ode.
That hasn't been walked upon since.
I am the stones in the babbling brook.
That overlooks, the winding path.
With the leaves in its flow, carried away in the slow time it took.
Now dried up in the midst of time's wrath.
I am the woods that hide this time honored treasure.
Witness to the pleasure, the setting has taken.
And gratitude, for the solitude given without measure.
Now forever forsaken.

Redwall, oh Redwall.
Deadwood, Redwood, hollowed firm or fall.
How does one weigh attributes and mistakes?
Is the mouse to stand as said judge of all?
To retaliate with retributes.
Or understand the individual, hare, hedgehog, otter and those in the middle.
Knowing his ascertaining of patience and learning is all that it takes:

Mischevael's theory on perfection.
What is perfect?
Is there not one thing to be picked?
I say nothing, ranks a ten.
But I tell you what is, in this quizzing thing.
Sit back and listen.
Everyone is in a stage.
Of growth, a sort of phase.
In their own sphere they are, except they are imperfect.
Study the corn, in every form of development shown here.
And see how imperfect perfection doesn't conflict.
You have the seed.
Having every perfect composite in need.
Of proper soil, water, and sunlight.
Perfect in its sphere, if anything should queer it shall spoil.
And not spring forth right.
Then you have the stalk.
Now it can walk the walk.
But the ear, is not yet.
Now, do you see how its sphere.
Is perfect but not fully set?
Then the blade.
Perfectly made.
But the ears, are not full.
Some produce a few, and in due time he nears.
The same goal as those with a lot full.
So if you are to judge, judge accordingly.
In the developmental stage proportionately.
In all fairness looming, if you know not whence.
Of the stage they come, don't succumb to careless assuming.
Remember, silence is eloquence.

Redwallers of Redwall.
Do the best that you can, do the best that you are able.
Knowing the form and none of the substance, I cannot more strictly warn.
Get up when you fall, so the rest can prove your label showing you'll go the distance.
Remember those in the way.
Give respect to where you are, respect those who invite you into their space.
Let your peace so bring a sweet allure, an impress never ceasing.
Let a portion of yourself stay, to ever reflect as a member of the place as if to be forgotten no more:

Johann's fourth lesson in self.
Always do your best.
And the rest, will fall into place.
It should be all you plan to, what more can you?
Self competes with one, when it's done you'll have this to embrace:
Those who run, run all.
If you should fall, just get back up again.
Life's like boxing: you will get hit, either get up or forfeit.
It's alright to make, a mistake now and then.
Your best will change from moment to moment.
Do not let it foment, self rage at non-achievement.
Let not what part is disappointed, become disjointed.
Swallowing pride, or wallowing in self pity pick your bereavement.
Under any circumstance, do the best you can.
You are not Superman, have reasonable standards set.
And you'll avoid self judgment, and self begrudgement.
And constrain the use, of self abuse and regret.
Make sure it can be enjoyed.
Lest life be devoid, of what really matters.
And any loss will be too great to bear, as you take too much care.
And pride has no defense, as countenance shatters.
Those who feel they need to be the best.
Are caressed, in selfish ambition, ego, and futility.
Those thus hurled, are in competition with the world.
They are unstable, and unable to know tranquility.

Redwall oh Redwall fight, retreat, lose or win.
The infirmary for those who have fallen, to mend the bleeding wound.
Yet the future, has a wound no suture has yet bound.
For one's wounds that go deeper and are not as easily found.
When sanity cannot see past the portals of the tomb:

A correspondence from Sky Island.
"A broken phonograph?
Or having your thoughts laugh at you all day.
A taunting outcast, or haunting past?
A need to let go, or a permitted stowaway?
An argument misconstrued?
With the terms queued or a soliloquized lesson to learn.
Destabilization or conversation.
Just in and out of due season, or the winds of reason blown astern?
Should've done something differently?
Or subsequently keep to what conscience has forbidden.
Hearing voices, or regretting past choices.
Defenses built, or guilt-ridden?
When he, she, it, they come knocking down your door.
Will the moment be remembered no more, in lasting turbulence?
A serious blow or status quo.
Mother Nature's persuasion, home invasion or mind disturbance?
Raise your glass to mental health.
With demented stealth as each hour steals its chime.
You feel your progress, but still no egress.
Cerebrally detoxifying, or clocks defying time?
If you keep on going.
Not knowing the dangers to tell.
Then you've lost reality, with your curiosity.
And as your satisfaction satiates, opens wide the gates of hell."
Sky Island.

Redwall, Redwall stand firm and hold fast.
We've nothing to fear for the future except that we forget the past, and how we all got where we are.
We must learn from our experience, lest betray our conscience.
Destructive to discipline, obstructive to growth and thus proceed no more than we have gone thus far:

Dr. Hoodoo.
I am the host and physician.
With permission, I'll take you on a tour.
Of Sky Island, the mind's eye to send sanity into collision.
With the antagonist of reality where it is forgotten no more.
I am your conscience.
The sustenance you steal, the attention I vie for and is due me.
You play so well, but I can tell you've lied to everyone since.
But you can't lie to me.
The waking of lusts gone dormant.
Like a hanging ornament, reminds you of all its pleasure.
Intelligence, to decadence when the powers are all the more spent.
When your debt is now greater than your treasure.
Where the light of the basic cure is farthest.
It is always darkest, before the dawn.
Yet time held in suspension, to the crime of self starkness.
The thrill you so longed for now forever gone.
Not wanting your failures known.
You play what they want shown, having them do all the work.
So you keep hidden, what is forbidden even from yourself alone.
You play your responsibilities only to incidentally shirk.
The garden of the past where broken dreams dwell.
You see flowers by petals that fell, but thorns are what you find.
Where these ghosts, and all the hosts of hell.
Come play inside your mind.

Redwall for all who travel the byway.
Stand straight, firm, and tall, for those downtrodden and new.
Brighten the soul, make them feel whole and welcome each day.
Yet there may be times when some make others blue:

Selv's theory of wet paint.
Wet paint people can't help but touch.
Their words are a reflection of their own insecurity.
Let the truth be your own protection in perpetuity.
Only let it be your shield not crutch.
Do not yield to their consumption.
Ofttimes your stolid or shy reluctance makes for a provocation.
The more closed you think to be.
The more an open link everyone will see.
Giving them all they need for their satiation.
Will there be any living, with others' sealed assumption.
As the days do not last.
So there may be breaking points.
Taking tolls with everything that disappoints.
Only hold fast.
Even gold must be drossed through the fiery bowels.
Let them have their flare.
He who lives in a tent.
Realizes all soon blows over gives in and shall relent.
As a tree may bend, but does not break so you should face and bear.
No matter how the wind howls.
It's about how you are found.
They see aught in you that they reason is wrong.
In or out of due season it is how you react to their song.
Keep principle and integrity, don't relent stand your ground.
Show them that you've already caught a star.
Remember, you are not to blame
They're ready to judge what they can not stand or tolerate.
Drudging amicable cessation proceeding to character assassinate.
Band together to draw you like gypsy moths to a flame.
So if you're to be damned be damned for who you really are.

Redwall, Redwall a warroir mounted within your halls.
Though one may seem one way, keep assumptions at bay.
Though a fox and mouse do not play.
Keep in mind, that those designed to become prey.
Should not be of those within your walls:

Sky Island's friendly warning.
Keep your friends close.
With a dose, of caution and affection.
Guard down with hug or handshake.
Hard bound with firm connection.
Lest find yourself in a quicksand mistake.
A natural, spurious, artificial, furious, or dire selection.
Faith in the stability.
The ability to see that all will be well.
Yet the truth you might find you've bid.
Having bet on what cannot sell.
Walking in the midst blinded.
Consolation prize, situation realized, or just the pangs of hell.
Keep your enemies closer.
Carefully you chose her, lest she undermine you.
Respect her until she is out of the way.
For she will either break or define you.
Either follow or change the rules of the game to play.
A special relation, hesitation, or remain bitter as quinine in lieu.
The enemy of your enemy is never a friend.
Only a means to an end, presumably bought.
The presumption is shaky at best.
Till the consumption has you caught.
Having conscience betrayed only pretentiously at rest.
All for themselves, can't swim in that he delves or deception fraught.
Situation seems complicated.
Predicated upon pros, cons, and what the players' savor.
Driven into one another's arms.
Given into the temptation of his laver.
Blind to red flags deaf to all alarms.
The mission of Dr. Hoodoo, or the physician's voodoo he gave her.

Redwall, Redwall endeavor to take care.
Lest you lay for yourself a decisive snare, for the cares of this age.
The thirst for more, to be worse off than before.
Oblivious until the sound of the locking cage:

Selv's warning to shun its very beginnings.
If you come to a turning point tested.
Take care lest you are bested, and have that you desire.
The heart of stone, with many yet alone.
Driven to be slave unto ambition and lust's fire.
Your failure to turn away.
Has the lesson to learn another day, come again more fierce.
The lack of principle, that would make wise the simple.
Makes for no less a coward if one took a blade to the heart to pierce.
Because he fought not.
His sole lot, will be his damning worth.
Greater crimes stain cannot remove, as he his might try to prove.
Only to demonstrate the necessity to be blotted from the earth.
The measure of faith given to man.
Suffices enough that he can, overcome an overwhelming tide.
If he turns his foot from the path, he will witness the wrath.
Of the violation having succumbed to the carnal man whenever he vied.
Because you traded integrity, principle, and character for pleasure.
Your measure, is subservience to your devises as cowards cannot quell.
Failing in your efforts, do not tell me truth hurts.
Because it burns searing hot the fires of hell.
With habits of like fashion.
The fulfillment of selfish passion, will be his crutch.
Illusions he will bear, rationalized unto idealized despair.
A man who falls by a little will also fall by much.

Redwall, Redwall you think to enjoy it all.
You turn your home into your city, a place of comfort, and security, a convenience isolated.
A run of the mill, unto repitition, until the thrill of it all is under complete submission.
To become a lesson you'll learn, as you see your coveted world.
Hurled into the hell it created.
Such a pity.

Seeing the world through a grain of sand or its revolution through a window pane damned.

At the first weeks of vernal.
Where hopes spring eternal and the dismal days are gone.
Brilliant greens and brighter rays, fill the void of nakedness and greys.
Finding joy in sunsets, in hues of pinks, purples and scarlets at dusk and at dawn.
With the sun rising high.
And a mercuric sigh, brings a much needed race for change.
To a favored vacationing place, or solitude in a quiet space.
To return rejuvenated, and to renew an underrated home once estranged.
The gathering clouds and a heavier wind.
Soon a relief they to send, and to warn of quenching the thirsting rose.
For without the days of thunderous forlorn, there would be no petals only thorns.
To the entering of the fall, heralded by the centering of the shadows.
The colors change with temperature and time.
Squirrels climb, as shadows rise from the rustling trees not to be stirred long.
With bluer skies, clouds more discernable to the eyes.
The shortening of daylight, to be followed by the night bird's song.
When the fresh cold air without and the warm heat within have kissed.
And the year reminisced, the days to remember are recalled unto satiation.
Around the fireplace with each crackling ember, to friends or family members.
So the cold blasts of wintry hours, pass sweetly by the powers of the imagination.
Home is where the heart is.
Where one imparts his dose, of various treasures thus housed.
To be kept close, to satiate the desires even the subtle and gross.
A want for a cost, to soon think that moment lost -the cycle espoused.
Sweet is the home only.
As a lonely solitary yearn, from which it is to be arisen.
When you leave and return, lest hard be the lesson to learn.
As reality sets upon the mind, and find it be your prison.

Redwall, oh Redwall, the first will be met with the last.
Only let not your present be subject to your past, lest miss moments to seize.
There could be little hope of atonement, when such a moment is lost.
Keep to your knowledge of right, do not compromise principle, let correction bring the change.
It is simple, as a chapter is closed, the present is exposed in light of your future opportunities.
Live not for today as though no tomorrow, lest that day arranged in sorrow.
*******Brings forth that past with regret, at a fretful cost.*******

To divorce the bitter from the sweet.
Will be met only with bitter defeat, in defiance of the tapestry life composes.
To tatter or fray the twine, will but mar her design.
For yesterday warns, that without the thorns, how will you know what the rose is?

"You cannot smell the buttercup, without getting pollen up your nose."

As you cannot divest living and toil, comfort and pleasure from peril and pain; we are to make of history, our experience; without having our experience repeat history. Let the thorns alone, for they will only wound you. Gather the pinks and the roses.

"Loss and possession, death and life are one,
There falls no shadow where there shines no sun."
-Hilaire Belloc.

Selv's principle encouragement.
Within the tree of generations.
Cycles of continuation, and remembrance.
We've naught to fear of the future, except the wound of forgotten past without suture.
Embrace your fault, it is the very salt of your experience.
As chapters close.
Through the throes, of the wintry chill.
With the shortening of days, and the veiling of warmer rays.
We are encouraged to cope, our future is hope as we keep quiet and still.
The seasons pass with their own stories.
The spring with its own glories, to weeds and insect swarms.
To the summer trees' green canvas pave, to enduring its heat wave.
The cool autumn beauty, heralding a duty as signs of winter form.
With the cold blasts of winter nights.
Come clearer lights, even amid gloomy skies.
Though empty and quietly the rustling winds gave, the stillness of the grave.
Cardinals perch in lively red, their songs relieve the dread with peaceful sighs.
Tomorrow is the turning of the page.
Setting a new stage, for your chapter.
New leaves to bring, a more cheerful spring.
For it was the substance, of that hope, evidence we learned to capture.
Place the old upon the shelf.
To have yourself, ready for each day as a precious gift.
Keep time in his order, the present has no room for another to quarter.
Lest memory lane, is remembered in vain as the present is but the past adrift.
To feel the loss of family or friend.
Is to share the loss of petals as the rose weeps for the end, only to wait another day.
When all is forgotten, and new buds begotten.
The petals remembered no more as life is forgiven, when the wind has driven them away.
(http://i67.tinypic.com/16kz9dw.jpg)

Redwall, Oh Redwall.
The headstrong will fall, but take heed all who think they stand.
For the walls you build, might not yield having your world a grounded garrison.
Think yourselves a purebred throng, and find yourselves dead wrong.
As you are hurled into your newly founded prison.

Copperl's tale of the fragrance of freedom.
They are easily dismissive that only serves to irk us.
While looked upon as sideshows as you enter the circus grounds.
A rejuvenating moment, to only foment what would defeat the purpose.
For they entertain the troubled mind, to satisfy their double blind want of clowns.
There is a great dissolution.
As they laugh at the confusion, as a boy taunting the lizard with a broken tail.
A stringless marionette, to bring this regret feeling their shame when they leave the institution.
They look back with jocularity, yet every word speaks desparity spoken to fail.
As they are themselves caught up in servitude.
They can only serve the crude, while suffering from the laxity of the hierarchy.
A stagnate repetitive incompetence, a vortex in a swamp hence a miasmic hors d'oeuvre pursued.
A routine you're forced to follow, and with each course you swallow more of the tired malarkey.
If a kind word turneth away wrath.
Then the path, to a cessation is humor.
Yet in the progression, of transgression then such be the aftermath.
As the wiles degrade, and the smiles fade the joy will only cradle a tumor.
Looking into the clear blue on a warm afternoon.
Longing for the night moon, as waning patience and anticipation collide.
As the sun makes its round, shines through all the sound to give hope for a free day soon.
To be cut by the blinds, as one only finds a gulf fixed in the divide.
The constant reverberation throughout empty halls.
With footsteps and doors and pounding walls, to go silent as the tolling through the grave.
With each hour to pass, and a deafened breeze through deadened grass to pay homage to each chime that falls.
To lie awake and begin, to finally take it all in the silence ever so craved.
Precious hope in a field laid fallow.
While their dogmas made hallow, to the heretic's despair.
Hope as a lonesome rose, thirsting for early dew that goes with the fade of each shadow.
Until you step outside, not looking back with each stride breathing deep the fragrance of free air.

(http://i65.tinypic.com/1hbhxl.png)
"You must have both: Balance and direction; and go through your own hell to get them." ~BfIaM