Because you are in it, so I shall stand firm in it.

Because as long as you are in my Life here.

I shall stand firm, and never give up in this Life.

Because you are in my Life, I shall stand Firm.

For there is none other that Loves me Like you do.

There is none other, that I Love like I Love you.

As long as you are in my Life, I shall never give up.

For you are so Special to me, you mean so much to me.

So  I shall stand Firm, never giving up but standing firm.

They  call  my  flat
a  museum.

Because  of  all
my  stuff.

But  as  a  keen
collector.

I  can  never  get
enough.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.2017.

It had happened so long ago
None now there could recall
How or why the helmets and armor
Lay at the bottom of the shallow sea

Like clockwork at dusk
Such relics would wash ashore
Battered, rusted and torn
To lay on the white sand beach

The children of the nearby village
Loved to pick the prettiest pieces
And bring them back as souvenirs
To decorate their little huts

The adults of the village didn't mind
But they were warry of certain obiects
Namely the black boxes and drums
Full of pointed or rounded cylinders

Years ago thinking it to be junk
A villager threw one such box in a fire
The result sounded like a great host
Of lightning striking over and over

Some of the villagers thought
The boxes could be used to make fire
But none of them yet have deciphered
How the strange objects work

No, for the most they are content
Living in their riverside village
Happy and oblivious
That the world ended long ago

The days get hotter
The smog gets thinker
The Ice melts
The ocean rises
Cities drown
Islands vanish
Money is still made

The world is Burning
Entire species gone forever
Whole cultures scattered
The money keeps rolling in

But what is money?
When the earth is suffering
What is money?
when we are dooming our selves

Divide the moon into two halves,
You'll find inside a million lamps,
Also cut the heart into two halves,
You'll find inside blood and valves.

Romance is trapped in a Shakespearean novel,
He buried it under the centuries with his shovel,
And the modern fast pace modified the human brain,
It's only a repetitive pattern of falling in vain.

Juliet has a husband, he's older by twenty years,
He's never home, she's always out shopping new fears,
Romeo is jobless, searching ups and downs for a key,
He heard life starts in the aftermath of a dream.

The old witch sitting in front of a glass bowl,
Now broke and retired, all her cookbooks are sold,
And the wolves are out, ruling the woods,
Magic's density in the air, isn't as high as it should.

So plug the stars out, pluck all the electric flowers,
The universe is now running low on power.*

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