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Retired for many years and now re-discovering some writings, from long ago, along with new endeavor to help save my soul.

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Blow ye hard, wind of mine.
Rid this nation of hate entwine.
Flee from here, you shameful man,
Inciting divisions as only you can.

Accept not the blame for your act.
Keep up your lies, untruth and fact.
Run this Fall, if you must.
How to do when there is no trust?

Let all the citizens; let them see
The full extent of your own hypocrisy.
Run for re-election and when you fail,
Perhaps the next place is Federal jail.

Down the path, like a runaway car,
the lives now lost, near and far.
You care not; that's easy to see,
as your lies will live an eternity.
As a president you are the worst,
when your lies cause your World to burst.
Citizens both far and near,
want to know when you'll disappear,
in the coming months, it will do
for next November, please vote Blue.

The ache in my back,
the words in my head,
have caused me to leave
my warm, toasty bed.

Why is that? Oh, I don't suppose
any one will answer the question,
or throw up your hands. Heaven knows.

Words are peculiar; some need to soften
for when I write them down,
I may use them quite often.
I write until my pen runs dry
and grab another, giving it a try.
It writes so faintly I utter a cry.
"For Pete's sake, leave me alone."
So into the trash it must go.
Two pens in one sitting, kind of absurd
as the last pen is sticking.
I like to write, using a pen,
for if I err, I must write it again.

A far away land
at distance to thee,
is where I will wander,
when I search for me.
Travel today
is not the best choice,
unless sitting in a tube
is cause to rejoice.
Crammed into the can
of a cabin of size,
leaves no space to breathe
or to optimize,
the safety you need.
Lord please help me,
complete my next deed.

A waft of smoke
from the small fire,
with intense heat,
stoking a new desire,
to live once more,
under the bright star
and to be the man
you know you are.

Sitting around a campfire at night
the front of you is warm.
Your back is cold as ice.
Telling stories of days gone by;
embellishing as needed
to maintain the lie.

There is no comfort
in sitting here,
unless of course
the cold will disappear.

The song you sang,
I've heard before.
About a lost love,
not here anymore.
I know not of love.
I'll say it once more,
for my personal feelings
lay on the floor.
No feeling of despair .
No feeling of loss.
No feeling to care
about another person.
It's not for me
or the pain in my heart.
It is still there with thee
as my soul tears apart.

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