True we are here to learn but as well
Here for a good time not a time long
Life slips away every day in every way
Of this must be some where a song

At times one thinks this is no good
Same thing every single day it seems
Reality getting harder to handle of late
No time to even think of ones dreams

They say lifes made of choices I say
Some's choices are just too much true
How can any live a decent life when
Others choices often .. I'm fine F..You

Then pressures rise and it hits the fan
Not in any nicest way at times its so
When others ignorance all that matters
Some souls lose it and simply lets it show

Those of little consideration for others
We find the apple falls close to the tree
And this adds to already stresses and strife
When pressures rise the victims set all free

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018

(For All Fathers, and Nurses too.)

Dispensing meds to heal the hurt,
He never treats us like some dirt
But takes the time to laugh and joke.
And always with a gentle stroke.

Such goodness from a gallant heart.
And thus we call him King Edward.
The kindest soul who's ward, I  find,
Is a kingdom (within his mind).

I pray God that your goodness goes
Around the world both to and fro
To ease the feeble, here and there,
From all the throes of life's despair.

Kudos to Father's everywhere.
And "praise" for nurses that do care.

.
I know this place,
light stone avenues,
fig, pear, apricot and apple,
trees that line in rows,
cut paving with neat gutters
**** white granite buildings,
as ferns and creepers
cascade from roof gardens,
the green shining vivid
in appreciation of being alive.
And I connect across the aeons,
this place was my home,
from centuries long passed,
yet reaching out to be found.
The avenues mimic my mind,
long straight and narrow,
broad and winding,
leading to sedate squares
to sit and feel the sun,
to bathe in beautiful isolation.
And the trees sway
casually in a breeze so soft,
it caresses the branches,
enough to tickle the leaves
and cool the ripening fruit.
Here, the forest erupts,
circles around this sanctuary,
forming a natural hedge
to this garden of tranquility,
this oasis in the maelstrom,
this home in my heart.
Flowers of honeysuckle,
jasmine, of clovers and lily,
adorn walls and buildings,
bright in contrast
to the shadows of the trees,
bloom with the intensity of colour,
riotous in hue and arrangement,
yet, ordered to Nature's Law.
Paradise wrapped in image,
slicing through time and space,
my place a thousand years ago,
my place to claim forever,
and the wind carries me home,
I know this place,
because it lives inside of me,
because I made it.


© Pagan Paul (06/06/18)