Magazine Posts

The Gods are at play,
is often said,
when the game they're playing,
can wake the dead.
A rolling noise, coming this way,
shows me the Gods really do
know how to play.

A trail, a path, a rutted road,
marked the journey of the old Toad.
He left the Bog he lived in,
starting his life anew, where it began.
From Bog to trail, through the trees,
hiding in daylight under branches and leaves.
He made his way toward the town,
where his family lived, near the Sound.
Water he craved, back to the Sea,
for this journey is not about him,
but more about the man I be.
I must go now; the light grows dim
as our journey in life is short,
from the time we were born
until life does abort.

The roar of thunder
outside our door,
makes me wish,
for even more.
I love the sound
of rain on the roof.
Makes me feel humble,
certainly not aloof.

Quite a show of force today,
as thunder rolled across our stage.
No lightning was seen by me
although our lights did flicker.

Oh you poor, misguided wretch of a man,
go back to where you once began.
Step up to the window, by your side;
make a decision and then decide,
to leave the citizens of this land
in worse shape now,
than when you first ran.

The things you won't find.
The things you won't see,
are stuck in my head
and there they will be.
away from my thoughts,
away from my Soul,
for my mental state now,
keeps falling below
where a sane man should be,
with wife, children and family.

Do you know me,
for I am yours?
Found in the filth
on the dirty floors.
Words, spewed every day,
of hate and names,
of those which
I cannot say.
Words so hateful,
words of spite,
you're something else,
of that I am right.

Amongst the grass
there lies a stone
of greyish blue.
It's all alone.
No other rocks
to now decry,
or for us
to ask why.
A task of
asking now,
from Heaven above,
free of hate,
with unrelenting love,
for a single life,
now; here alone,
whose old heart,
is that lonely stone.

As the dew, leaves the Rose,
when the Sun passes by,
deepening the shadows,
beneath the blue gossamer sky.
It is there I will meet you
under the Wisteria, growing anew.
For all the plans that didn't come true
and the promises made
at our last goodbye
said with a whisper and a long sigh,

I remember you;
Your flashing eyes.
The lilting laugh,
You would surprise,
With your mind,
Young and wise.
Your mind is gone.
Knowing not where;
Sitting with me
In our despair.

The crashing of waves across the shore,
brings sounds and a scent I adore.
There is nothing quite like, this World of ours,
being here on Earth with wind, Sun and Stars.

You have bankrupted our Nation.
You have bankrupted your soul,
when you attack the Citizens,
with your lies, above all.
Don't tell us we are
on the road to recovery,
when the loss of life
and jobs mess up our economy.
You sir are a piece of work,
for the presidential duties you shirk.