The plagiarist is somebody
who loves the high regard.
Talent less and lazy and
lack a sense of working hard.

Its easier to copy,
take credit for another's trade
because they lack accomplishment,
it makes them feel afraid.

Afraid, because of inadequacy
in what they do or say
they want the credit of their peers
without a price too pay.

Incompetent and shallow
might cause these beasts to steal.
They like to boast of mastery
but of course this is not real

Shameful in their thievery
could never achieve the work they stole
but perhaps when they're pretending
this helps to make them feel whole.

This should not make them happy.
This should not make them glad.
In fact it should reiterate
that they are really, very sad!

I walked through town last week
and a stranger came and spoke to me.
I agreed with many things he said
but I didn't know who he could be.

Interred for spouting to the crowd
is what I read in the daily news.
Religious twaddle said reports
so they locked him up for different views.

He spoke about his fathers house,
he also spoke about the rights for all.
His words were guiding us to follow,
that without our father we would fall.

Holy men from other values
refused to hear what he would say.
Degredation they threw forth
so keen to lock this man away.

I was reminded of the past,
perhaps you might recall this day
when something really similar
happened to he, to whom we now pray.

I don't think he was sent from God
but to quieten him they were intense
and rather than let us use our own minds
they kicked this fellow off the fence.

I know he believed of what he said
and to spread his words is what he tried.
Perhaps this man was just a nut
but was this reaction justified?

We gather at the wire,
concealed in the crowd.
Some of us quiet,
others are loud.

So many cultures
share this common sway
all are sweeping the ports
trying to get away.

We wait for disorder.
We wait for mistakes
and in all of the turmoil
some will try make their breaks.

Authorities' do their best
to keep us in grip
but they're not always aware
of the one who's made the slip.

We are always here waiting
and are concealed out of sight.
Hiding in any location,
configured by our plight.

Not a task we would choose
but what else can we do?
It's fifty, fifty I think
if I get caught or get through.

Moving swift our intention
in the hope we succeed
and to that ideal location
we hope to proceed.

Even if we're lucky
and our course we get done.
Everyday then will try us
with a life on the run.

Then if luck stays with us
our lives this will sway
but things are not always clear
always ready to get away.

What is behind my eyes
will be forever
young

BEAUTIFUL


10W
SoulSurvivor

I pulled the knot of the rope
tighter, rather like one would
to secure a tie into shape.

The rope was well secured
to a narrow wooden beam
that insured that the rope
would not fail and I was
positive that the structure
would take the weight as I
had designed it to do.

I looked at a picture I held
in my hand and the image
made me feel that this action
was the required course.

Suicide!

It wasn't the life that I had
led that had stirred this desire
to end my days.

I had no upset for the vicious
attacks I had made or the thieving
I had done to procure my habit.

No, it was the death of a child
that had brought me here. For
while I journeyed into the realms
of chimera and fantasy. Whilst
I walked the light fantastic
this child lay in his own unknown
territory.

On my come back to reality I
was assured another vision.
This time though neither delusion
of mirage. The child lay dead
with the syringe still hanging
from his young personage.

As I kick the stool away the
knot does its job to perfection
and as I struggle my life
away at the sharp end of this
rope the image flutters gently
down to the carpeted floor.

It shows the image s of a man
and his young son, soon to
be reunited in death.