A rolling ball of thunder,
with lightning at its back.
A Spring, Summer storm,
report of possible hail,
is what I heard.
Why then, is there sunshine?
The absurdity of our weather,
confuses most of us,
where are Spring-Summer
feels like it is now Fall.

It is always the same,
Who can I blame,
For the screw up and errors,
about what I did wrong.
Ah but my followers are strong
And will always go along.

I enter into the innermost corners
of my mind,
searching, ever searching
hoping I will find,
the answers to the questions,
posed many years ago.
Seeking the true meaning
of questions I don't know.

I want to travel. I want to go
to the land where the Wild Iris grows.
A peaceful place, with seas of blue.
I need to escape the thoughts of you.
You with brown eyes, silver wavy hair,
who's a joy in life is no longer there.
Dementia caused this change, I see.
You will soon no longer be with me.
The lung cancer was treated, cured just fine
but the Chemo treatment, took away your mind.
No memories of our past life and friends.
No longer the love as our life together, ends.

Your random thoughts, in early evening
are like scattering birds in a field.
There is little logic in your discussion;
nothing I understand nor can yield.
As stated before; in daytime your fine,
but when evening draws nigh, your mind
seems to wander; no place to go.
The questions you ask; are answers I don't know.

Across the bluest of Oceans,
toward a pinkish sunrise,
are adventures, most certain.
Seeing the look in your eyes,
brings me back to my childhood,
for there I can surmise,
the places of the World
which we cut down to size.

The grass is not greener
on the other side of the hill.
We could go play there,
but that's not the rule.
No gathering in crowds.
Stay locked in your home.
No more going out.
No more can we roam.

An economy before containment:
a prescription for viral disaster.
A crazy one you are
and lie you must.
May your wretched soul
soon turn to dust.

Bangers and mash,
some Shepherds pie,
taste good to me
and so I'll try,
a pint of beer,
while evening is nigh,
it will soon disappear,
as will I.

Blind obedience to what is said,
if you listen to all his lies
most of us will be dead.
What kind of man, in our town
whose lies, every day are so profound.
Put on your suit, you ridiculous clown.