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Entering the dim lit room,
it smells of dust
and looks of gloom.
A small light, on the table,
to brighten the space. There is
a jar, of multiple items, some
wooden matches, pennies and
such. Among the items, I see a ring.
Interesting, I thought, a ring lays with
forgotten memories, of love and pain,
about two strangers, who are un-named
lays there in repose, with a dried up Rose.
What a story it must be,
a lost love; an old reverie,
of romantic days, in years gone by;
I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry.
Are the pictures, on the wall,
in this room, of a young lady and
a young man, whose name was Jim?

Dust in the attic,
covers the toys,
used by children,
many ages ago.
Not an interest,
replaced by electronics,
more popular today,
the video games
on your phone.

I don't believe in abortions,
but it's not my choice to make
about who should live or die.
It's not for me to tell anyone,
which path they should take.
We march to a different drummer,
this is plain to see,
God Speed to all of you,
when the decision comes to thee.

"From whence came I?"
Was once asked,
a question asked in vain,
as they lay suffering,
in a World full of pain.
The answer to the question,
may not be known by man,
so we search the World for
a religion, which may explain or can,
provide the information, we need,
in this life of an also ran.

The cost in lives,
painful to see.
No vaccinations,
more danger for we.

He was tall.
He was thin.
A skeletal man,
who still smoked,
using Bull Durham
and roll your
own papers.
Lay out the paper,
making a slight crease,
pour in the tobacco,
roll into a tube.
Lick the last edge,
to seal the fag.
Twist both ends,
put into the bag.
Take one cigarette,
you rolled on your own.
Strike a wooden match
on the seat
of your pants.
Light up the joint,
taking a big drag,
for this is
your reward,
a carcinogen fog.

What is the sound
of lonely?
Why do we seek
company,
then try to be
alone?
The sound of words,
is why I am
attracted to you.
A tone in the sound
of a voice,
will bring happiness
and you will rejoice,
while you still hear,
the sound of a
whisper, in your ear.

When your World has gone asunder
and your troubles are so many;
When roiling clouds of lightning/thunder,
lock in the World, on this very night,
do you worry about each other
or do you cry for your mother?
Brace up, stand ye strong,
for in this World you belong.
Stay the course, join the fight,
defy the doubters and their might.
See tomorrow as a better day.
Work thee hard, the time for play
will arrive in due course
and join with Justice, in the fray.

Why is it now?
What is the need?
When your inner soul,
Has a need for speed?
Not speaking of drugs
Or of smoking weed,
Just a burning desire
And a need for speed.
Loud, rumbling engine noise,
Creates desire and the need
To race against others
And your need for speed.

I gaze out the window
at the impending gloom.
Darkness was falling,
lamps flickering with flame
for the burning of candles,
was not the ultimate game.
Why wouldn't you ask?
Discover who has the blame,
destroy it now
and take back your name.

A dog called Spot,
a black cat called Sue,
left their town
on a horse named Blue.

They were looking for
an adventurous trip,
to the Big City
and new friends who were hip.

Leaving their town
on a sunny afternoon,
they arrived in the city,
a few minutes past noon.

The very first place,
was a park they saw,
where they stopped to rest
and heard a big caw.

What is that noise,
Spot wanted to know
They espied a
very black Crow.

Where are you going
the Crow asked of them?
My name is Sam,
should I tell you again?

A large crowd had gathered.
Many pigeons, a Squirrel, called Jim,
for he had never seen a horse,
at least not blue and so thin.

Come to the pond, over there,
said Jim, pointing his tail,
you can drink, quenching your thirst.
They all sipped from the water,
until their stomachs almost burst.

Sam, the Crow, then said to all,
"come here, the view is good."
The group saw chairs and tables
with people eating all kinds of food.

"I am quite hungry," said Blue.
I can't eat that, is what I say,
for I need me some grass
or at least some Timothy Hay.

They like the park, quite a lot,
as they gathered that day,
saying"we must leave now
and be on our way."

It had been in the gutter,
the longest of time.
A terrible place to remain,
no matter the time.
Some youthful misdeeds,
a long ago time,
never repeated again.
A terrible place for a mind.