60 Seconds of Anger is
60 Seconds of Happiness
you've stolen from yourself.

I need you to know
that I no longer write about you.

Life is a but chest board and
we are the players, some
are pawns they may seem
weak, but to others they are
the best players in life. They
can move any where they like,
they are many, but are the
first in life to fall. The down
trodden, those deemed weak
are the ones who will pay the price,
for the wrong move ends all.

The knights the protectors
of the people, but always
sacrifice them self's if to
save the king or queen
of the land if the rooks all fall.

the bishop it is only has one
way thinking, never will it let
its faith change, same coloured
square all through out its life of
the game.

The rook not a person but a
place to keep those from harm,
but a place Is only as safe, for
as long as it doesn't fall. For
where this rook is placed
depends on if it will keep
those from harm or be toppled
an burnt to ruins on the floor.

The king and queen of this
wooded land, but will only
survive if they can play the
board with the right moves
and hand. For if rule is misplaced
then even a rook can topple a
kingdom if played in the wrong
way and down will fall a kingdom
pieces and all.

I hang on to an I it is the letter that
Keeps me afloat. I am drowning
In letters words are pulling me
Down, I nearly choke on a lower
Case o but like a polo I swallow it
Hard but whole.

Z is caught on my foot tangled
In the a word formed from those
Floating in this sea of thought.
I look beneath the waves, as a U
Gets trapped around my throat,
I gasp for air grabbing a J to ease
This letter getting tighter on my throat.

It feels though hours have past as
Time floats by aging the words as
It drifts on. I fear I may drown in
This sea of letters of random words
Of thought.

But I see light it floats through
The sky, higher case letters brings
More definition to the word as
Brighter than the lower case it was
Before. I see where I need to be a
Island of word I swim to its shore.

Safe from this sea of confusion of
Separate word, on this Island the
Waters flow as words, and my
Thoughts now cleared no longer
Drowning in a sea of letters that
Wash upon the shore as words..

for Marshall, the straightest arrow, that when airborne,
ebbs and flows, with air currents that take him to where he was intended to go*


Old Son

you call me that,
semi-factually correct.

though technically,
now an orphan.

perhaps
you meant,
old soul?

semi-factually correct.
the old part.

Proposition:
He is an Old Soul

the soul part,
t'is yet debated
back n' forth,
in the Senate of

every breath

every word

every stray thought.

numerous amendments
to the "bill" proposed,
but afraid of failure,
the sole sponsor of said
proposition,
does not call the House
"to order,"
for a final vote

the endless debate,
he pontificates,
is way too pleasurable....
and no passage, failure,
way too displeasurable,
a likely outcome