They call them the Kings of Bones,
torching the  villages and the homes.
Saying they’re done with the ******* and moans
they’re expected to hear when upon their thrones.

So tell me is a battlefield even real
if it isn’t littered in blood, limbs and steel?
The bone kings only receive their end of the deal
if they offer up those who support them for the next meal.

So with scraped and ****** knees,
how are they to pray or please?
If our heads are always bent,
does worship even hold any sentiment?

So tell me is it really a done deal,
just like in guns, germs and steel?
The bone kings take what they want, act as they feel.
They tear all apart and neglect to place a seal.

They’re all too busy reading out of date scripture
that they’re all missing the blatantly clear picture;
Hell is empty as the devils walk the earth.
Everyone wants to rule the world,
trade gold for diamond and diamond for pearl;
doesn’t realize the reverse of worth.

Now they’re wearing collarbones around their neck,
and accessorizing every vertebrae as a ring.
Assuming this cruelty grants them respect,
really at best it’s just straight vulgarity.

But each King stands alone,
forever isolated and on their own.
So they polish a fresh bone
just to add to their skeletal throne.

I have never been so depressed
as I was
when stepped on by an elephant

I have never been so down
as I was
when attacked by a moulting duck

I have never been as shocked
as I was
when wiring that plug as I did

I never felt so abandoned
as I was
when she passed and left me here

When I think about her
I don't believe I will ever feel alive again
but I am older and will join her soon

Apples
in a bowl
on a wooden table
glowing
in a beam
of sunshine

A window
facing trees
gently moving
in the winds
of Summer

A hand
pooring coffee
for a friend
at the table

Senses intermingling:
apples, wood, summer wind
talk and friendship
in a timeless moment
of simplicity.

I wish I could say that he took me for granted
But he took me for nothing at all
His disinterest would have been legendary
If there was a measure for how much someone don’t want to see
I got on my knees
Said lots of pleas
Asked for help from a God I don’t truly believe
Wrote a whole lot of poetry
Shared lots of music, too
Tried everything I could think to do
He didn’t appreciate even one bit
Nothing ever to come of it
That’s his right
No hard feelings
All my might, I tried
Never got one toe inside
Nothing granted
Except this free ride
Round and round
On the invisible train
To nowhere town