Hypocrite
(for the so-called Politicians...
I do not have
A guiltless soul...
Lifes Gift
As I sit here and listen in silent reverie...
Veins are inkpots,
writers do not write, they bleed across the...
Inside the Fence
Monotonous cackling of hens...
Calling out to anyone close by
This lake swallows me with fire...
In his mind, the special kind
Voices call his name at times...
I wonder what
Will come to be...
Life's Rhymeless Beat
Cold winter night under dusky sky...
He stumbled on the little train,
Left out on the floor again...
Let the wind soothe me,
sweep away all my mortal encumbrances...
Dying Nation
Anguished, frustrated...