Poor men talk to God.
Rich men talk of wealth and fame.
Poets talk to ghosts.

coyote calls make canyons quiver
stars sleep in ponderosa trees
dry your tears in the fire’s glow
wild is a pretty place to be

When my muse ignites
Verse that excites
Then you have me
Dead to rights—
I'm a poet!




© 2020 Mark Toney.  All rights reserved.

People always tell me,
that people love me.
People always tell me,
that people care for me.
People always tell me,
that they will love me....
..... no. matter. what.....

Lies
Lies
Lies

I cant tell you,
I cant tell you me.
I cant tell you,
who I am.

Lies
Lies
Lies

If you knew me, you would hate me.

So stop telling me you will love me no. matter. what.

Cause you wont....

A long and narrow room,
With one single solitary bed.
Yet many things are portrayed.
A bed that keeps you safe from anything.
A blanket that will hugs you until you feel warm.
A mattress that you can lean whenever you feel sad.
And a pillow that will wash your tears from a past that will never come back.