Magazine Posts

Run not to thee,
my favorite one.
Run to your Idol,
worship the Sun.

Religion,
a faith under the Sun.
Religion,
my soul to expunge.

When dreams are wrought
from stone and steel,
questions are raised about,
"Is this for real?"

If not the Moon,
that shines through hazy skies,
if life ends too soon,
it shouldn't be a surprise.

No one has ever said
life is fair.
If anything, life is unfair.
Only you can correct this,
by developing your strengths.

Realize, you're loved,
by many more than
you may realize.

Cold, was I,
when I started,
now here I am
all broken hearted.

Flushing my mind
of things,
which the edge
of madness brings.

Must this life,
I know,
be all there is
to show?

I know not,
what to do,
staying in touch
with you.

What light at
Dawns break,
brings me peace,
to take?

Alongside she came,
from out the sea.
A sailing ship,
not meant to be.

Money changed everything,
and a Privateer, she be,
attacking merchant ships,
which had gone to sea.

Riches, were hers,
as she captured money and crew.
An outlaw vessel,
carrying booty too.

One day she was stopped
by a Naval Man a War,
and her pirating days,
now gone for evermore.

Why was the question.
What was the word?
Awkward the conversation,
some never heard.

The road home,
is blocked with pain,
of our lost memories,
which no longer remain.

Once, was I,
a solid man.
Degradative downgrade,
what I now am.

I've found words I
love to write,
about life's joys
and not for spite.

Hurtful words of
ridicule and distain,
can leave this place,
never to return again.

Write of love
and how we were,
so many years ago,
when we were there

These are the words,
I've always known.
My feelings are out there,
my covers blown.

When love is the answer.
What is the question?
Feelings for another,
making you whole, once more.

A fallen tree
across mountain stream,
a someday journey
for a childhood dream.

Long lay the moss,
upon the old tree,
much like a life,
full of misery.

It's hard to remove,
but we must try,
to improve our lot,
when cows fly.

A silly word,
perhaps, one or two,
but who cares anymore,
it's probably not you.