Magazine Posts

Have I seen you around?
Have you been here before?
May I walk you home?
Could we just explore,
Talking of the times
And things we adore.
Would you have dinner with me
So we can talk and see
If we are compatible and
Have the same love,
Or is our meeting
Just a passing love?
It must be difficult,
During a time like this
For there will be no hugging
And most certainly, No Kiss.

The anguish of love.
The anguish of denial.
The anguish of hate,
All last a while.
There is nothing easy,
About life on this day,
Except to work hard,
Keeping the dogs at bay.

A long, long time ago,
in a place far away,
where the Elf and Fairy,
would come to play.
A wooded place with Sun
and shade,
where many toys and tools
were made.
Tools of trade, people
would say,
Sorcerer wands were made
every day,
for use by the Wizards, here
to stay.
A spell to move all the
darkness away.
The zap of a wand can sting
as well
for you will believe you've gone to the
Gates of Hell.

Will I see you soon?
I say to you
for my friend
you brought me to,
where I write my word
and write some more
until I am heard
or I should say, to be correct,
be read, for cause and effect,
as the words spill from fingers taut
writing about Forget me Not.

Is there a meaning,
in the length of a sigh?
Does it vary
as evening draws nigh?
Foolish questions,
a half hearted try,
to explain the reason
for a long drawn out why.

It will soon be the Fall season,
for testing the last bastion of reason.
Here is what we must do;
Get out the vote, please vote Blue.

Of what I write
and what you read,
may differ now
for I will cede,
thoughts you have,
are yours. Proceed
to a place in time,
where you may plead
and it may rhyme.

Write the words that pour forth.
Think not of the meanings
or the time. There is no
reason, I'd understand
if I could not write
words in the sand.
The sands of time and
life our hate has caused
most looks of awe,
makes some sense,
comes to me but I cannot
for my hands are free
to do the tasks God
sent to me. Write down your feelings.
Do it now. Do not worry
about how they may sound,
if you are alone. Just stay
away from that darn phone.
The phone has become your brain,
not your love but a disdain
of not having a Social contact
today. So I'll leave and run from here
and try hard to just go and disappear.

The Moon is shining bright,
peeking through clouds above.
Has the Moon now become
a shining beacon of love?
Or has it become, in this World
a pillar full of hate.
Why do you write these words?
Can you not, now relate
to the words that have described
some terrible time of fate?

Ugly your thoughts.
Ugly your words,
When you tweet,
It's so absurd.
You know not of love.
You only know hate,
For you chastise others,
When you lie and berate,
The goodness of those
Who wear simpler clothes.
Perhaps it's the truth,
Which will soon depose
Of your hateful rhetoric,
Only the Voter knows.

The times were good.
The times were bad.
The times were happy.
The times were sad.
The times, now today
The worst we've had.