Business interest
are not the best indicators
to make decisions.

Deft hands cut precise whirrs the ceiling fan
closed eyes bar view the scene can't scan
before they reach the ground take windy spin
falling in scattered piles gathered for coffin.

Shreds of gray and black dot the white shroud
little to write about nothing to be proud
don't reduce anymore that's about fine
add not to the growing woes says hairline.

Cool the clime crawls the clock at its own pace
halts the head to think about the changing face
would it look better or yield a worse clown
ridiculed by one and all folks of the town.

Nothing can be done enough damage is done
fiercely to blow the heat waits fiery sun
over sir says barber open my eyes
the one in the mirror doesn't look any wise.

She beckons Earth underfoot
Time for Seasons to reset
Goddess of Egyptian Spring, Renpet
Palmshoot reaching, curving, sprouting
Desires let

To fertility of world She sings
Commanding what nature must
Warmth of fresh sun dewed lust
Birth and growth She informs
Of equal trust

Datenut ***** are running slim
Provisions of winter running out
Time for Spring pea planting, no doubt
For Renpet knows and ends
A knowledge drought

Her reign is rain
And this wetness is welcome
Sprouting what just, shall come
Amending reason and truth
She'll come

Sometimes,
All you feel is the pain within the confines of your heart and you're convinced that what molded and made you this way, is all that you've got.
Sometimes the silence is the most treacherous noise and you're certain your lungs will cease to inhale again if you have to hear it any longer.
Sometimes the aching of healing makes you wonder if it's worth it.
We're all hurting to heal and longing for contentment in one way or another.
It's just, how do we get there from here?
And can my tattered soul and wounded heart make the trek?
Is it really, just live, hurt, attempt to be whole and then die?
Do we get to at least hold the ones we lost again at the end of this?
Is there some sort of resolute or lesson learned?
Or is this it?

Thoughts and rain wile
away the night
Lightning blue shrouds
a lonely eastern March sky
Guitars and tea , bugs collecting
on a porch light , a whippoorwill
sighs , an barn owl begins to cry , the
brown bats have now come alive ,
the hummers will return , the garden
will soon need seeding , green grass
and sunshine will once again meet ,
children will return to the street ,
for the March winter is fleeting* ...

The warmakers paint the world with a fetid fire
The artists fight back by painting the world with a fine fluent fire
The righteous, truest path inciting passion and desire
Majestic medley of peace sung along to ancient lyre

We take the baton and pass it on
Under the sweet and setting sun
To each other with light we run
Passing on the cosmic joy and fun

This is the song of serendipity
That incites the world to love and amity
That inspires an uncynical charity
And eternal laughter and the cosmic hilarity

we do
we learn
from our mistakes
the fittest learn fast.