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I tire of doing this writing craft,
for in my life, I am feeling daft.
Daft in the head, we would say;
It's the way I feel, every day.
Perhaps it's because words cause me pain.
Wishing to do better and not complain.
I tire of words, from the dirt,
for when I write them, they hurt.
Hurt others I care so much about,
for I want to scream and shout,
"Enough, enough, is what I say,
there's hate in this Country, every day."

The past few days, have been wild.
I am living with an elderly child.
A child; my loved one I see,
Who asks all these questions of me.
Did you know my parents, I had?
I have nothing. No Mom or Dad.
She knows we have friends, I recall
But doesn't know names, not at all.
She remembers our granddaughter, by name,
For all others, it's not the same.

First came the Lord,
a beastly virus
and the rest,
bringing all
their fleas,
to a love fest.
Not liking Citizens
of this
grand land,
he was in control
of this,
under his command.
He cares not
for others,
it was the word,
for he
was committed
to take
Democracy away.
Rid his kingdom
of those
with dark skin,
was his desire,
so it was said.
He was well
started
with over 200,000
citizens dead.
Don't ask me
questions about
those all gone.
Next question,
as I am ,
now moving along.
It is a fake
virus,
is what he said
and it matters not
if you count
all the dead.
If you think
this funny,
it is not a joke,
for a real demon,
has you now,
by the throat.
Here's what you do,
get off your rear
and please vote Blue.

How Old

Posted by MFish Posted on 09/25/2020 at 10:10PM Humor See more by MFish

How old must you be
to stop having a fantasy?
Is there a certain age
to be used as a gauge
and stop behaving like a teen
age boy or somewhere in between?
Perhaps there is a notion,
as we age there is no emotion.
For me, it isn't true
as I feel connected, to you.
Emotions help you to relate
and avoid being a reprobate.

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.

As I sit, with pen in hand,
I must say, with no remand,
of writing two works, recently
as I sat in front of the
computer, writing quite freely.
Why do words, which I love
come easily from my trove
of words bouncing in my head?
Where is the senseless prose,
now taking me? I wish to know.
Let me be, o fate of mine,
I love all my friends, for sure
and hope my distant love
will last long and endure.

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