down on her knees
beseeching
pleading for it to arrive
days without
a meager amount
she was dying
as time did pass
to be endowed
in it's refreshment
towards the heavens
her hands
were stretched
asking so earnestly
for the opening of clouds
to replenish
her core so dry
ecstasy
had abandoned
her terrain
gone was it's  life giving
dampness
which would allay
her anguish and pain
arid she'd been all summer long
twas too long a period
being bereft
of those quenching drops
her ground so dusty
and so lifeless
she pined
for the sweet moistening
to fill her with enlivening streams  
a band of richly laden clouds
came as she pleaded
to the sky once again
she implored in desperation
to be saturated
monster spots of rain
poured down
which so soothed her landscape's crust
enthralled
was she to be in  receipt
of it's wetting balm
long she'd made supplications
to the sky
for her ground
had been excessively dry
on her knees
and with her hands stretched
to the heavens
on high
the sky bequeathed
her it's deliverance  
as her death
was drawing ever nigh

written on his face
the story of adversity
the trials he'd met
through his life's journey

nothing came on a silver salver
he did it tough
all his times were
rougher than rough

his boozing mother
sold her wares on the streets
she liked nothing better
than to be between the sheets

his daddy died in the winter
of nineteen fifty two
he had fallen victim
to an awful dose of flu

that boy had seen
so much sadness in his days
he struggled and battled
through those darkest of days

nothing was easy
it never was meant to be
his journey through life
was one of adversity

i catch a whiff of sins lethal pheromone
allow it to seep into my passages, in, out
usurping my discretion, ensnaring my heart
it dances up the vacuum of my mind
and plants a delicate kiss, seducing my morals
i succumb to its power, too delicious to resist
and allow this corrupted spot fester to its death
by dawn it consumes my once virtuous soul
i kiss farewell to the pure cherub of my past

go on and drone about some *******
of us not making the same mistakes as you did
i hope the puppeteer burns in his hearts own inferno
for he is the truest testament to Satan's existence

i can't deny this anymore; it's far too obtuse
the repercussions of his actions too palpable
you vicariously suffering for his faults
when you've already got so much to endure

so to hell with this devil incarnation
my love to whom has been extinguished
God died but not eight months ago
and to mourn, i live for my own existence

Old rototiller in the leaky shed
a working tool for the old homestead
mismatch parts of blue and red
it ain't pretty, but it keeps me fed

cutting up wood before the winter storm
preparations before snow clouds form
it might not seem like "the norm"
it ain't pretty, but it keeps me warm

rusty double barrel on the rack
a whole lot of ammo in a stack
to defend in case of attack
it ain't pretty, but it's got my back