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T Rex thought he was the king but truly he was no such thing
he was a bully sad and weak who prayed on those to young to speak
Then came the day when baby Trice
got to close to Rexies lair
Rexie thoughg his luck had changed and now would play the Rexie game
Which was to take the young and weak
so soft and tender, good to eat
Rex thought I will have some of that
the baby trice will be quite a snack and fill a corner of my tum
But Rex had made a big mistake, oh dear a grave mistake
For round the corner came trice's mum weighing a bit
more than about three tonnes
Three big horns upon her head
One jab from those could leave Rex dead
She gave poor Rex an evil stare
said "Bite young Trice if you dare"
Then I will deal you a mighty thump
and I promise you your bone will crunch
Poor Rexie backed away in fear and in his eyes salty tears
People thought for many years that Rex was king and had no fear
But they didn't know Triceratops,  the bravest dinosaur of the lot
An un edited bit of fun
I've lost the words to
say how I feel to someone
who no longer listens.
I am not a hypnotic, nor an ******
I am more like over flowing
a waterfall, of rushing Stimulant

I am an empty vessel, made of flesh and bone
I am not a hollowfull of mindless  things, gathering moss on stone

We are with one another, separate yet not apart
I am the Voice at the end of the Receiver
You can hear my Voice, but may not hear my Heart

If I talk to you with Words,
You might hear my Voice, or rather your perception of it, I will not know how it sounds or what you have heard

You might prefer it that way, I assume that's why you read Poetry

You can take a little bit of every poem and make it all your own

You create the image, the fantasy, the meaning, the mystery of the Soul that holds the Pen that wrote the words that touched your Heart.

Heart to Heart the Poetry bonds us, so simply, it's hard to conceive, how real the closeness, how deep the Intimacy.

....Of Poetry, It links Us together, not locked in time, but binds us forever.

Sweet, Sweet Poetry...Ahhhh
The beautiful Art of Poetry bears many gifts
Ripe Mourning, so Crisp and Crackling with Life Waking or Life preparing to sleep.

A shift change taking place at dawn, both sleepers and wakers will share a Yawn, for worlds of dream or worlds awake, it's like Consciousness balances itself in this way.

I see a Blue Herron standing on one leg near the pond, ducklings waddling in a line behind their Mom.

I see children running and playing on the jungle gym, how appropriately named. Training ground for the perils of the Jungle ahead, the Jungle of Life.

" Welcome to the Jungle"

Everything in Life is a Test
Every Choice Molds your Future Self
Prepare Yourself, Prepare Your Children, Train them on the Jungle Gym.

*"Welcome to the Jungle"
Mourning Free Flow, who knows?
Not Me...
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