Here I am, sitting,
with all these words
in my tired head,
when I really should
be back in bed.
"What's so compelling?"
Someone once, asked of me.
To write down
these words, so completely,
before they become
a piece of your
imagined vision,
that was written clumsily,
without the precision,
of being a completely,
sloppy rendition
of words, all plastered
together with rapid
hands and fingers,
with no errors
that will linger.

Blow hard, the Wind. Blow hard tonight.
Clean up the air, use all your might,
For the pollutants and emissions must
Be reduced for all, not for just
Those who we see every day,
But the World citizens, who must stay
In squalid hovels, at the border of the USA.

When the evening light, turns to black,
It's the time for a memory lapse.
Not recalling names of long lost friends,
Or remembering places we went to, often.
The sense of loss of her mind, I feel
Afraid for her, in this life surreal.
"Weep not for me", she's said before,
As we trudge towards that fateful door.
The cruelty of this disease, to me
Astounds my view of the lost memory.

I heard the sound of shrill agony
When a young Crow, fell from a tree.
A young Crow, when on the ground,
Will perish soon, as predators abound.
Give it water to make it strong
And before you know, it is gone.