Is It the luck of the Draw
• 05/09/24 at 12:29AM •How did we get the way we are?
What unknown part of me,
is the result of my heredity?
How did we get the way we are?
What unknown part of me,
is the result of my heredity?
Did I tell you or just suppose,
That I have my grandfather's nose?
What does that mean, you ask of me?
It just another part of our heredity.
To borrow the looks, face or hair
From others of which I'm not aware.
Truly a marvel, in this day and age,
When as we get older, we become a Sage.
There are many words,
I will write here for you.
You may send them in, Not.
The choice is up to you.
Think not conscientiously,
of what you want to say,
just spit them out, then,
you can shout, Hip, hip hooray.
A memory of my life past,
when I hoped my love
would stay and last forever.
I press my hand to your cheek
And feel wet, softness.
Why do you weep?
I will kiss the sadness from your eyes
And make you happy.
Let your thoughts wander;
Think of fields of flowers,
Shining in the Sun
And of waves in motion,
Slapping on the sand,
While cool breezes,
Blow upon your face.
There was a time,
many years ago, when,
those we loved,
took control of lives, then
we would know,
we were swaddled,
bundled with warm
clothes and coddled
and "have a new
place to dwell.
Down the edge of loneliness,
at the Heartbreak Hôtel."
Thank you, Elvis
for those words, I say,
for those are my thoughts,
every living way.
From shelter, warm,
to darkness, cold,
my love for you,
will never get old.
Weather storms,
spawns a heavy rain.
Must I tell you?,
Must I explain.
The harsh light,
pours from skylights above.
Harsh on these old eyes,
still searching for a lost love.
We wonder about the unknown.
It raises many questions.
Midnight strangers, dare to meet,
At the darkest hour of night,
In caverns, caves and deepest woods,
Where sunlight never peeks.
The grasping, clutching pull of
Hands, are tugging at the sleeve,
Of those who wish to depart from
Here, where darkness never leaves.
All the pities and sorrows of the
World, gather, all massed around
The entry to the depths of hell.
He lies, awaiting you, in shadowed
Corners.
Beware, if he offers you his hand,
For you will be dragged,
To the depths of oblivion.
Long grow the shadow,
beyond the far, away hill,
where you will find plants,
like the golden Daffodill.
A plant grown commercially,
for many a year,
but in the wilderness,
will suddenly appear.
Resulting from a Pioneer,
family who built a home,
where the wildlife was plenty,
and the buffalo would roam.
How hard it must have
been to start with nothing
and rebuild your home
comfort, safety again.
There are those we know who
made the greatest sacrifice.
My short acknowledgement.
Gone, forever, from our sight,
Gone, to be no more.
Long remember those,
Who were here before.
Be proud to know,
They did not die in vain.
We are here, because
They cared, to give their lives
For those, yet unborn,
For those, yet unknown.
There are those, who will take a dream
And build, for a brighter morrow,
Have faith for there are those,
Among us, who will carry forward,
That which we believe in
And that we work for.
Once, in the beginning,
at the start of life,
an imagined beginning.
Life is like a tunnel.
In the beginning, darkness.
Darkness, with faint light,
in the distance.
As we travel, the light brightens.
Suddenly, all is brightness and noise.
Such must be the
feeling of life,
in the beginning,
at birth.
There lies a creature,
within my soul, at rest
There, its lain, since I was,
born out of wedlock, not the best.
I know it's true,
for I've been told,
You will soon be free.
Out in the cold.
"What are you doing?",
said a voice, sounding like Doom,
as it rang out from,
the back of the room.
I'm speaking to a friend,
if you'd be so kind, to not
butt into my conversation,
for it is his ear that I've got.
Just go away,
leave me alone,
it's my new place,
which I call home.
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