So goes the pride, before the fall.
No loss to me, for I recall,
I liked you not; not at all.
A glibness of untruths, your call,
You were the demon, feared by all.

Please don't run to the place
where your mind likes to hide,
for I need you near me,
close by my side.

I have seen the sorrow in your eyes,
from a lost love, I will surmise.
A broken heart, shattered too many times,
put back together with thought and some wine.
Wishing some hugs, were available now too,
as I would provide some of them to you.

A short burst of words,
down to this page
with the noisiest pen,
I've ever engaged.
Words continue to pop,
in this old head of mine.
Some new words perhaps,
but mostly quite dead.
Dead from the Latin
of so long ago.
Off in the night ,
I will soon flee,
for I believe Death
is now chasing me.

What do you do?
What can you say,
When all the children
Are not allowed to play?
How can their psyche
Not be harmed in this way,
When all the children
Are not allowed to play?
Do you look to the heaven,
So far away and up high,
To strengthen their souls
Or at least try?

The same old story,
retelling an old joke,
about a man on a tractor,
who was smoking a toke.
What does this mean,
you may ask of me?
I do not know,
for I write what I see.
I saw the tractor
and saw the bloke,
though his head was enveloped
by a large cloud of smoke.

Oh my love,
why
has this happened to
thee?
This disease I
see,
has now changed
me.
I love you
now,
as it should
be.

A letter of love
I received an e-mail,
saying if I don't pay up
I will be going to jail.
I don't like it you see
when they say, now marry me.

I see the far away look in her eyes.
I've seen that look so many times before
and I will not show any surprise.
Where have you been, lovely one, mine.
You know the World for you to entwine.
To be better or worse, in our life sublime.

A long shadow
from the recent past,
has caught up with me,
now I must move fast,
away from the noise;
the hate I do see
from an election pose
which is missing from
this child with no toys.

There was a time, long ago,
when my inner child,
wanted to leave and go,
being the one to run wild.
Oh how I miss him,
my own inner child.

The still of the night.
A night without a Star,
with nary a moonbeam
to see where you are.
Alone in the dark,
with this scratchy pen.
I hope to live long
but I cannot depend
upon faith in this World,
so full of anger and pain.
Can we not have sunshine?
Enough with the rain.