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I have this watch
That long ago stopped
When it grew tired of telling time

It so often felt
Keeping up with itself
Wasn't the best way of living life

So day after day
My watch planned its escape
And when the time had finally come

It did something quite odd
What most would consider opposite
Decided to stay but no longer run

That's where we now are
With my watch on my arm
Stopped in mid Tick Tock

If it had the chance
To run once again
I'm thinking the answer is not

As most watches find
Keeping up with the times
Will drive you over the ledge

That's why I keep it
Strapped to my wrist
As a reminder of that if nothing else
No
no
no
You are wrong.
About me.
You have always been one for anger,
violence and oppression
You have always been one
to lash out against others who
don't agree with you.
You say it's possible to change,
I've been waiting for years
This abuse,
this warfare
is my life now.
I wish I could go back
to a time
when I could be myself.
But,
like many other things
it just isn't possible
You have wrecked me.
My life
my soul
my hope
my dreams
my aspirations
my everything
you have made depression
a ******* reality
You ******* my life,
stirred my family,
and caused nothing but raw hate from me.
You are so cold.
So unforgiving
You preach about the "good lord"
where was he when you were on top of me?
YOU ARE A ******* *****
do you know that, dear sir?
YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR HUMAN LIFE
did god tell you that yet?
YOU ARE A VICIOUS ****** WITH A FIST
that's really quite scary.
I am so tired of you
I am going to leave soon.
From you,
from all of this.
And when I'm gone,
you''l have to wonder,
"Where did I go wrongGgGgGg?"
Well let me tell ya,
you went wrong
the very day
you met me.
*****.
I ******* hate you.
Everything about you.
Everything.
I'm breaking down.
can you see my cracks?
I feel so alone.
You told me that.
I have gotten darker by the day,
and I don't care if I stay in this world.
I'm losing all I care about,
because your hate is like poison.
It spreads.
Through me,
through mom,
through the whole **** family.
And you sit there,
on that god forsaken couch
gorging yourself in snacks and sweets,
expecting the world to bow
before your swollen feet
I am angry "dad"
I am upset.
You will feel it soon.
I can promise you that.
You have nothing but a dead son coming,
better start planning.
And if you touch my sister,
death is coming
goodbye, Mr "dad"
*I'll see you in hell
 May 2016 Maple Mathers
S S
Poor tip-ity tap-ity raindrops
Mapping out uncharted fields
Crystal buds take shape and flop
Cruising down my windshield

Mapping out uncharted fields
Drops stumble, slide, glide into place
Cruising down my windshield
Dance to their own song, own pace

Drops stumble, slide, glide into place
While shimmering red turns to green
Dance to their own song, own pace
Brash wipers erase this playful scene

While shimmering red turns to green
Crystal buds take shape and flop
Brash wipers erase this playful scene
Poor tip-ity tap-ity raindrops.
Waiting at the lights on a rainy day.

First attempt at a pantoum: lines 1234, 2546, 5768, 7381.
 May 2016 Maple Mathers
Rowan
Dawdle
 May 2016 Maple Mathers
Rowan
Hello again, heartless friend.
So slyly in the backgrounds blend.
Your veering vanish, vaguely here.
Your gaze of increments - insincere. 
Healer of the hearted scars.
Swallower of the heavened stars.
The paths in which we dream and delve.
Allow the doubling ones to twelves.

Slices of the eternal elude.
Movements of monstrous magnitude. 
A hesitant dawdle. A lingered delay.
The mountainous sway is steered away. 
Hoarded heaps of hourglass bliss.
Outnumbered by wasted nothingness.
With interludes of want, of miss.
To slowly morphed indifference.

The pendulums that abruptly swing.
The burdens they still hope to bring.
The envied earn of Earth's endeavor.
The better late. The better never.
The eerily empty echoed need.
The blossomed tree from planted seed.
The curse of a continuous grief.
The ever stealthy, silent thief.

The cogs, gears, hours and hands.
The burn of beauty, bleak and bland.
The coziest, surrounding choke.
The whelm from the transparent cloak. 
The running out. The ever essence.
The grand keeper. The watchful presence.
The potential of the plainest plan.
The currency of the wisest man.

What horrors - hallowed by the tick.
Will sound for both healthy and sick?
Will compose secrets, never told?
Will fumble flame to frigid cold?
The end stays always promptly nigh.
For the intimate, infinite blink of eye.
I fear your wasting, more and more.
The constant count to twenty four. 

Unresurrectable and second to none.
Airborne, regardless of having fun.
As retrospective wisdom blinds.
Our youthful hopes and manic minds.
On and on. From time to time. 
Song to song and rhyme to rhyme.  
Betrayer of all mice and men. 
Less of if and more of when.
Of all phrases of mouth and pen.
The worst are "I've done nothing, again".
John Doe died this morning,
a man of indeterminate age
They found him in an alleyway,
a blanket of newspaper lining his cage
They said it was overexposure,
hypothermia and bad luck.
He was pronounced, tagged, thrown in a bag,
and loaded onto the truck.

John Doe had lived in that same spot
for fifteen haggard years.
Yet nobody knew his real name,
or listened to his tears.
Was he once a father? Or
was he always just a punk?
The community just passed him by
To them he was nothing but a drunk.

Whether or not John Doe had seen
better times seemed irrelevant.
Legally, John wasn't a human being
just a negative urban element.
His last words were "Spare some change
for coffee and hot bread?"
But nobody could spare the time,
and left John Doe for dead.

I wonder how long John sat dead
before anybody saw or cared.
I wonder how many handfuls of change
really could have been spared.
A little bit of warmth and hope
Were all that he desired;
But John Doe never saw a break,
until his time expired.

Old John was unidentified,
no license or social security;
no family reported him missing,
see, John was just an "impurity".
The mortician took his organs out
and stitched him up with wire.
Threw him on the metal table
and slid him in the fire.

John Doe was disposed of
in accordance with local code
Then they cleaned up the alleyway
He lived and died in, his abode.
John Doe is dead and gone now,
but I guess it's all the same.
John had never really lived
since the world forgot he had a name.
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