...

(The Art of Surviving)

Were he a saner man

Then when their voices

Call out to him through the darkness

And fog

He'd go happily

.

Needless to say, he is not sane

And neither does he go to them

He cannot trust his own mind

So why should he trust

What he thinks he hears?

.

He makes his way through life-

Or death, really-

(They're practically one and the same now

So it doesn't really matter)

Trying to pass the time

Sometimes, when he's playing,

He can almost hear their accompaniment

(He may be forgetting

What his Nakama's voices sounded like

But he'll never forget the music they played

If only for the reminders

In the long pauses and beats of rest

During some songs

That just accent the silence)

He practices, day after day,

Becoming the masterful musician

He always wanted to be

(He's not vain,

So it doesn't bother him

That no one is there to congratulate him

Or be in awe of his skill,

He's just sad

He never has an audience)

.

Ships will occasionally drift by

The first time, he was thrilled

It was the human contact

He'd always wanted

Soon, he realized

The only thing worse than eternal solitude

Is eternal loneliness

Because there is a difference

Between no one else being around

And always being alone

He'd always fit in before

As a musician

A pirate

A man

He was never an outcast

Being thrown into the roll of one

So violently

Would shake anyone's foundations

(Devil fruits are one of a kind

Someone once explained

There's no one else

He translated)

.

When he's not playing

The silence of the fog

And blackened sea

Seems to crescendo

To an unbearable volume

Until he feels he would give anything

Just to break it

(Guns under the chin

Or to the temple

Don't work-

He doesn't have brains to blow!

Yohohoho!)

So he laughs

Or sings

Or plays

Life is merry,

The seas are vast

Adventure goes on forever!

(What is there not to laugh about?)

.

He cleans his violin

Constantly

As often as he thinks a day has passed

(Sometimes, it's every few hours,

While other times,

His 'day' lasts weeks)

He knows it will crumble

And turn to dust eventually

(Everything does

Minds and skin and bonds and hope

But he sincerely hopes

Bone crumbles before wood)

.

Were he a saner man

When he feels fingers brush his own

As he plays the piano

(Almost like the ghost

Of another song)

When he smells the clear, warm air

Of a summer sea

When he sees their figures in the fog

At the piano, or dancing happily

When he tastes the flavor

Of fresh food and ripe fruit

When he hears the sound

Of piano music

Or cello notes

Or the sharp twang

Of guitar

Then he would go to them

And run into the sea

.

But he is not a sane man

And he does not dive into the waters

For he is afraid

He would survive, even then,

And he is hopeful, that if he doesn't,

He will survive

Until the day someone comes along

And gives him a chance

So that he can live

This is the second update today due to the fact I didn't get one posted yesterday. Sorry about that, and thanks for your support! Now is probably a good time to, if you already requested someone you really want to read for, re-request them. I'm doing my best with old requests, but it's hard to know which characters people still want to read, and I don't want to chose your least favorite one a second time (or something to that affect). Re-requesting is completely fine, and if I'm honest, some of the older suggestions might appear sooner that way. Otherwise, it might take longer to get around to them (though they are still on my list).

Thanks for reading, and for your eternal patience with requests! I hope you've enjoyed these poems so far.

Happy