Small Bytes
• 10/11/20 at 10:40PM •Small bytes of noise
is what I want
but wordy prose
is what I got.
Small bytes of noise
is what I want
but wordy prose
is what I got.
I know I write of sadness
and I write of woe,
but I will tell you one thing,
I am not ready to go.
When I go there will be a sound
of bells ringing loudly, when
my written words abound.
We will be free citizens when
we vote out this selfish man.
My mind is quite strong,
so I've been told.
Sometimes when I write
words come out cold.
Why is that, you may say?
I'm uncertain my mood
and thoughts get in the way.
Some words are quite soft,
while others, harsh and hard.
It matters not their origins,
or if they're dirt in the yard.
A gathering of people,
all wearing a mask.
I didn't recognize a single face
until the masks were
removed. It was not
surprising as I now understood,
the wearing of masks
was partially good.
He'll come for me,
in the still of the night.
I'll go quite easily
and I will not fight,
for when the Night Rider,
calls out my name,
I will quickly answer,
while here you'll remain.
When the Night Rider
knocks on our door,
I will answer the knock
and be here no more.
A swirling wind,
as Dust Devils climb,
spinning the dirt
into small spirals.
A gust, a burst
on a breezy day
will clear the air,
or so they say,
as I watch
leaves blow away.
I write the words with something more,
for the words I write, please explore.
Tell me if they strike a chord
or if they are too short, trite of word.
What kind of a person,
What kind of a fool,
Would steal a sack lunch,
When they are at school?
A hungry one.
How old am I now?
I must have lost track.
I am old as can be
And feel death's breath on my back.
When words are hanging from
the low branches of the Word tree,
falling to a paper page where
we save and others can see,
the thoughts which are entwined
in this rambling prose of mine.
There are no words
I can say to you.
There is no action,
Of which I'll do,.
I miss you more,
Than I can pretend,
For I fear,
Our life will soon
Be at the end.
I do know one thing about you.
It doesn't matter what you may do,
For all the World, of which I see,
You are still the best part of me.